Life As We Knew It
by Gandalf3213
Summary: Bayport High is attacked...from inside. A boy goes on a rampage, killing and injuring thirty-seven students and teachers. The Hardy's and their friends are in the middle of it, and their lives is never, ever the same.
1. Gunshots

**Facts: Frank and Joe are the same ages as in the books. Iola is dead. Frank is going out with Callie. Joe's with Vanessa but she's in Germany (I don't like Vanessa) There will be one or two OCs, but most of the characters will be from the books. Oh...I don't own the Hardy's. Sorry.**

_"In nineteen minutes, you can stop the world, or just jump off it. It nineteen minutes, you can get revenge" **Nineteen Minutes by Jodi Picoult**_

"Hurry up, Joe!"

Frank called up the stairs to his brother. He glanced at his watch, then at the door. They were going to be late…

Finally, Joe came bounding down the stairs. He ducked under Frank's half-kidding punch and raced out the door, calling behind him, "Come on, Frank, we're going to be late!"

The older Hardy sighed and grabbed the van's keys off the counter where he'd left them. He made sure to lock the door behind him as he left the house. Both of the Hardy's parents were away. Fenton was somewhere on the west coast, doing something so secretive that he hadn't even told his sons about it. Their mother was at a week-long drive to support breast cancer.

Joe was sitting hopefully in the drivers seat. Frank pushed him away, climbing into the car himself. "We're going to be late, Frank…" Joe warned.

This time, Frank really did hit him. He started the van up hurriedly, some real anger floating through him towards Joe. He had to give a speech first period (Hitler: completely deranged maniac or amazing military leader?) and if he was late, he wouldn't be let into the classroom. Ms. Gondasy was great like that.

Frank pulled into the student parking lot four minutes before the bell. Joe sped out of the car, away from his brother's wrath. Frank also hurried out of the van, hoping that he might just be on time.

He was about three-quarters of the way to the school when he spotted a boy who seemed to be having trouble getting his bag out of the car. The boy looked vaguely familiar – Bayport High wasn't that big. Frank stopped, his nice-guy instincts getting in the way. He sighed, walking towards the boy. Maybe if he hurried up, they could both be on time.

"Need some help with that?"

The boy jumped and cowered as if narrowly missed by a bullet. When he saw Frank, his words came out in a stutter, his hand moving up to swipe his long bangs away from his thin, pale face. "N-no. I don't need any help. Th-thanks, though."

Frank shrugged, heading towards the school at a half-run. He slipped into his first period class just as the bell rang.

Sighing with relief, Frank took out the notes to his well-rehearsed speech. Joe was so going to die if he ever made Frank late again.

Looking over his notes again, Frank barely listened to the other person who was giving their speech today. This had to be perfect…

Frank was called up to the front of the room at 8:43. He began his speech a few seconds after that. At 8:46, they heard the first gunshot.

* * *

Joe had study hall first period. During the first half, he was still laughing about how uptight Frank had been that morning. It was always fun to get on his brother's nerves. He had taken out his Trig homework but wasn't really paying attention to it.

He wished Vanessa was in school, but she had left for Germany on an exchange program a little over a week ago. So he spent his time looking around at the people in his study hall.

There weren't many. Two girls dressed entirely in black occupied the back corner. John and Carrie, known as the "perfect couple" sat in the front, their hands laced as they talked quietly. A group of about four AP kids were arguing about chemistry. One kid sat near the window, his backpack huge. He was fidgeting around a lot and Joe saw him check the time three times in the ten seconds he was staring at him.

To pass the time, Joe took out the book he was supposed to be reading for English. _Ivanhoe_. It wasn't really that bad, if you could get past all the old English. He had just managed to get absorbed in it when the kid by the window stood up.

Joe blinked at him, then turned to Mr. Rushe. He was a young teacher, maybe twenty-five, and was pretty lax about talking and studying together. But you couldn't stand up. Stupid rule, but enforced.

"Sit down, Roffman." Mr. Rushe barely looked up from his pad. He was the coach for the swim team, and had been going over the numbers all period.

But the kid –Roffman, Joe guessed, didn't sit down. He took a gun out of his back pocket and fired straight at Joe.

**Review?**


	2. Blood

**I don't own them**

_"You hurt my brother, __Klopman__, that was your first mistake." __**Frank Hardy**_

_Frank_

We all ran out of the classroom. Another gunshot made me fling my arms instinctively over my head. I looked in the direction of the noise, hearing four more shots in two seconds. I managed to snag a kid --- Freshman, by the look of him --- and hollered in his face, "Who? Where?"

He pointed in the direction he'd come before wiggling out of my grip and running towards the doors along with the rest.

I was about to follow him when I remembered Joe. He had study hall down there. So did Biff and Tony. I took off running, working against the pack to go towards the still-continuing gunshots.

It was chaos. Teachers were trying to restore calm while attempting to get out of the building themselves. I had reached a point where I was passing kids on the floor, covered with blood. Others were up and running, blood pouring from their chest or their arms.

I passed Biff who was trying to support an injured girl. He looked relieved and alarmed when he saw me. "Get out, Frank!" We both winced at the sound of a very near gunshot. I shook my head, trying to get the words out while still moving. "Where's Joe?"

Biff shrugged, heaving the now-unconscious girl into his arms. He winced again at the sound of a gunshot before looking at me. He looked scared. Blood ran down his shirt from the girl's wound. "We have to get out of here, Frank! Joe's probably gone already!"

I shook my head. No, he wasn't. There was a raw feeling inside of me that told me my brother had not yet gotten out of this school. I continued running, hoping Biff and the girl would be okay.

I was stopped again when I came to a group of three. I recognized John and Carrie --- two of the prettiest, nicest people you could know. Both Seniors, I know for a fact they were voted "most likely to get married and have a ton of kids" in the yearbook. John had his arms around a boy I knew was his brother. There was a dark red spot blooming on his chest.

"Get out of here!" I shouted at them, stopping suddenly. The sight of the two brothers made by head spin. The blood didn't help either.

Carrie was pulling on John's arm. She was shot too --- her face was bleeding, and her strength was leaving with every tug she gave. John looked at me desperately and I could see the conflict in his eyes. _Should I get my brother out or my girlfriend?_ I needed to help him. That could be me, forced to choose between Joe and Callie.

I tugged Carrie's arm, feeling the light girl sag against me. A trail of blood showed where they had come from. I followed it with my eyes, a lump rising in my throat. There was blood everywhere, and spent cartridges from bullets. This was definitely the beginning of the rampage…and the room was.

"Do you know where my brother is?" I didn't know why I was shouting. I had an arm around Carrie's waist, feeling it already becoming sticky with her blood. She nodded, tilting her head towards the room. I turned quickly as a hand descended on my shoulder. It was that second that I realized the shooting had gotten further away.

"Tony!" Surprise and relief flooded through me. I was so happy to see my friend okay. I dipped out from under Carrie, Tony taking my place in an instant before the girl could waver. "Get them out!" I shouted at him. I barely saw his nod before I was running into the classroom.

It was bloody. A teacher was near the door, his eyes wide open. He'd probably tried to bar the shooter's path. I turned my head away from him. I'd seen death before, but not like this. Never like this. I looked around the room wildly. Where was Joe…I needed to find Joe…

I found him in the back of the classroom, slumped in a chair. His blond hair was brushing against a forgotten book, and blood was pouring out his side.

**Review?**


	3. Dying

**I don't own the Hardys**

_"I was just coming back from lunch when the shootings started. Some of my friends were coming from the school, screaming and crying. I started crying, I was terrified." **Jaimie Roark, a student at Columbine**_

_Joe_

I was dead. I was dead. So why did it hurt so much?

Nothing was real anymore. After I got shot, nothing made sense. I had an impression of more gunshots, of yelling…shouts. Then a door banged open and people were running.

Not me.

I was dead. I knew it, and I welcomed it. Death would be preferable to this pain. My insides were on fire, and a hot stickiness surrounded my entire body. I just hoped Frank would understand why I had to die…

Frank. My brother would kill me if I died. Desperately, I tried to hang onto the last bits of consciousness. They were slipping away fast, and I felt myself falling. I struggled to keep my eyes open, my thoughts only on Frank. He would die if I did. It was an unspoken rule that had been in place the first time one of us got shot. The other would die.

Frank couldn't die yet.

By living, I would ensure that Frank lived too, and that was enough reason for me.

But at that point, reason had nothing to do with it. My eyes fluttered once…twice…as I struggled to stay awake. Distantly, I heard the screams that told me more people were hurt. More people were dying. Like me.

God, Frank, I'm sorry. So sorry. I know I'm supposed to be the strong one, the brawn to your brain, but it's too painful. I can't fight it. Make it stop!

"Joe?"

Now I was imagining things. Of course I'd conjure up a Frank to stay with me for my last moments. I tried to open my mouth, to tell this non-Frank something important. Only blood poured out.

"Joe, stay with me!" Something landed on my cheek, and I tried to force my hands to move to make it go away. It was a tear. Frank was crying. I wanted to ask him what was wrong. What if he was hurt? The thought was more than I could bear. But when I opened my mouth, more blood poured out. In a second I was choking on it.

Suddenly, I was in Frank's arms. It was only when I felt them that I realized I was shivering. I was so cold…so cold. "Don't die on me, Joe!" He sounded so scared. I wanted to tell him not to be scared. I wasn't scared of death anymore.

"Please, Joe!" He had started running, but I didn't realize it. I wondered vaguely when my brother had gotten so strong. I was pretty heavy. Why was he crying? Was he hurt?

We weren't in the school anymore. There was still screams coming from the building, and outside it was strangely quiet. Frank laid me down on the ground, though his hand was still clutching mine. Maybe he'd let me die now.

Forcing myself to concentrate on Frank, I noticed that his shirt was bloody. No…no! Frank couldn't have been shot. I started shaking even harder, half from the pain in my side, half from the pain of knowing that Frank had been hurt trying to save me. He couldn't save me anyway.

Then Frank was on top of me, his body keeping mine down. "C'mon, Little Buddy, don't do this!" He was still crying. It's weird. I've only seen Frank cry two or three times. He doesn't usually get emotional.

His side must really be killing him. He needed to see a doctor. Now.

I finally got my mouth working. More blood came out, but I forced out words anyway. "'Kay, Frank?"

He started shaking even harder. From far away, I heard sirens. Again, I wondered what had happened. Using his sleeve, he cleaned the blood from my mouth. "I'm fine, Joey. Just stay with me, okay?"

I turned my head to the side. I'd talk to Frank in the morning. And why was I so cold? "Too tired, Frank."

"No!" Something in his voice made me look back at him, irritated. It wasn't my fault I was tired, anyway. My side hurt, and Frank was on top of me and I was _cold. _And everyone was being so loud.

But Frank looked scared. Serious scared. It was kind of funny, and I wanted to laugh, except that my chest hurt. Why was Frank bleeding? Maybe he should go to the doctor.

There were a lot of people around now, and they weren't paying attention to us, which was okay with me. I just wanted to go to sleep. I tried to make my hands move to get Frank off of me, but nothing wanted to work.

"Please, Joe!" What a crybaby. I just wanted to go to sleep. But there was something I had to tell him first. Because he was my big brother and seemed so scared.

"I love you, Frank." I whispered, coughing up a little blood. Then everything went black.

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	4. During and After

_"__You don't need __no__ gun control. You know what you need? __Bullet control.__ I think all bullets should cost $5000. You know why? If a bullet cost $5000 there'd be no more innocent bystanders.__" __**Bowling **__**For**__** Columbine**_

_Frank_

After Joe passed out, I started yelling --- screaming, really, for someone to help. Anyone.

But there were other people in front of the school. Hundreds of people. There was blood everywhere, and people were screaming and calling out to each other. In a strange moment, I wondered if Tony and John and Carrie had made it out alright. I hoped they did.

I had to concentrate on Joe. He was still breathing, and there was still a pulse. I suspected he had passed out from loss of blood. Just as I was about to really start freaking out --- cause I wasn't already. Really I wasn't. --- well, just as I was about to start freaking out, a paramedic ran past me, then skidded to a halt.

"Frank?"

I looked up, trying to focus on the boy in front of me. He was probably about four years older than I was…and I knew him. "Lloyd?"

We had met Lloyd two years ago, when Joe and I were in the hospital after a particularly bad case involving a maniac and revenge against my father. Anyway, we both were in terrible shape when the police and paramedics arrived and Lloyd was the one sent into the basement where we were, mostly because he was he only one tiny enough to fit through the cave-in. He had only been certified for a couple of weeks then, but he seemed really concerned. He visited us in the hospital and we got to know him. Since then, he has taken either me or Joe to the hospital four or five times. It's just our kind of luck.

Anyway, Lloyd was crouching next to Joe, and the next second he was calling out for more help. He looked at me, and I knew he must be taking in the blood on my shirt. I could only focus on Joe. Joe who was no longer awake…no longer moving.

"Frank!" I looked back at Lloyd, who still looked worried. "Frank, are you hurt?"

I shook my head, dropping next to Joe once again. Dimly, I was aware of other people around us, of screaming and blood. I saw a kid get taken away in a body bag.

I think that was when I started throwing up. And once I started, I couldn't stop.

Lloyd stayed with me, his mouth next to my ear, saying all the right thing… "it's going to be okay…" yeah, right. It would never be okay again.

When I had finally surrendered the entire contents of my stomach, Lloyd said, softly. "Listen, Joe is a priority case. He already left in an ambulance." I wanted to hit him. Why hadn't he told me? Did he not understand that there was nothing…nothing more important than Joe? "But you can go in the next ambulance. We have to wait a little bit, because there are so many people."

I looked around, suddenly fearful for my friends. Where were they? I stood up, brushing Lloyd off. I had to find them…make sure everyone was alright.

The first person I saw was Chet, who was sitting, shaking on a bench, his head held in his hands. Next to him was a girl being covered with a sheet. I recognized her as a Freshmen, though I didn't know her name. I touched Chet's shoulder and he looked at me. His eyes were red, and his shirt was dark with blood, though, like mine, it wasn't his own. "Hey." He said, softly, then, "You look like crap."

I would have laughed in any other situation. Chet almost never cursed. I shrugged, half-wanting to tell him about Joe, then deciding against it. If I said anything, I knew I'd start to cry.

Suddenly, he put an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into a hug, blood, puke and all. "I heard about Joe." He said softly, and I did feel tears come to my eyes. God, Joe. I had no idea how he was. What if he was already dead? "I'll stay with you, man. I swear."

So I had another person with me on the twisted search for my friends. I refused to look at the school --- I refused to think past the task at hand. If I let my mind wander, I know I'd go crazy. There were police, there were firefighters and paramedics. There were frightened parents and police tape and above all, the high-pitched screams of the kids…the kids I'd known forever. The screams of the dying and friends of the dying.

We found Tony next. I was insanely relieved to see him. He was sitting next to John, who looked exactly how I felt. Next to him was a grass stained a dark red, but Carrie and his brother were nowhere to be seen. I looked to Tony for an explanation. "Dave and Carrie both went to the hospital, but there wasn't enough room in the ambulance for John. They…they didn't look good. Dave stopped breathing when we got out of the school."

That's where my short journey ended. I sat next to John and squeezed his hand. He looked at me, his eyes vacant, glazed over. I couldn't imagine loosing Joe _and _Callie…

Callie. I had forgotten about her. At once I was on my feet again, trying to run, the world spinning. "Frank! Frank, _sit down!_" Chet pushed me back next to John, who was staring at me blankly.

"Frank." Chet knelt down until he was my hight. "Frank, I swear everyone's okay. I saw Biff get out with that girl."

"Callie?" It was the only word I'd said since I'd talked to Lloyd. Tony answered me.

"She wasn't in school, Frank. I know, we have first period together. She never came to school today."

I laughed then. A deranged, strange laugh that I didn't recognize. I laughed for a full minute before I began to cry.

When I cried, the tears never stopped.

**This is so sad. I am rolling out these chapters as fast as I can --- this story is no easy to write. It just flows. I really feel it. For those of you who haven't yet figured it out, this story ****is**** going to be long. ****Fifteen or twenty chapters long.**** I'm in it for all the kids who've actually been through this. ****I hope you're in it with me, because this is real. ****As real as you can get when you speak through fictional characters.**


	5. The Hospital

**A/N: Because a couple of people asked me about it, I'll just put out there that I never was in anything like this. I just feel terrible for the people who were.**

_"I am prepared to die, but there is no cause for which I am prepared to kill." **Mahatma Gandhi**_

_Frank_

We got into Chet's yellow jalopy --- me, Tony, and John. The drive to the hospital was wild. There were police, there were helicopters, and there were lots of cars of family going towards the hospital.

Somehow, Chet and Tony got us to where we needed to be. Both Dave and Joe were in surgery, and the nurse on duty couldn't tell us when they'd be out. I looked at John, who had collapsed into a chair, shaking, and said, quietly, "At least they're still alive."

He shook his head, placing his forehead in his hands. Tony had gone off to fill out some forms. Chet was attempting to reach his parents to tell them he was okay. I knew I should try to call mom, but she was states away, in Illinois. She wouldn't be able to get a plane for hours. I wanted to put off the worry until I had some news about Joe.

So I collapsed next to John. I didn't talk. I didn't ever want to talk again.

What had happened? I glanced at my watch --- 10:07. It had been a little over an hour since the first shots had gone off. It s amazing what an hour can do to your life.

I had known everyone in Bayport for forever. It wasn't exactly a small town, but there were only two hundred people in my Senior class, and a little less than that in Joe's. I knew almost everyone by sight. And now some of them were dead.

And one of them had killed them.

Next to me, John spoke, his voice cracking. "I don't know who I should call." I looked at him. His features, perfect, elegant and dark, were contorted. His eyes were red and there was a smear of blood on his cheek. "My mother left to help my aunt get settled into her house in Ohio. I know I should call her…" He looked at me, and I realized he was crying. I realized I was too. I don't think I had stopped.

"Who was it?" It came out in a whisper, a scared whisper, like he almost didn't want to know. "Who did it?"

I shrugged. I wish I knew, or at least I knew that I would eventually want to know. I have been told by many people, Joe included, that I was overprotective of my little brother. I agreed with them completely. Eventually, I would want to rip the head off of the person who had shot my brother, but not yet.

Right now, what I wanted more than anything in the world was to see my brother. I don't care how corny that sounds. Joe means to the world to me. All I could think about was him, just now, with all the blood.

I might be sick again.

Leaning back in the seat, I sighed. I felt a hand on mine and smiled gratefully at John, who was looking at me, concerned. I think I've mentioned before that John is really a great guy. I hope everything's okay with him. "When this is over." He said, looking at me seriously. "We'll go out for a beer."

I laughed so loud I made several people who had just joined us in the waiting room look at me like I was an idiot. John broke into a grin as well, a short, tinkling laugh escaping him for a second.

I was completely out of it, though. The mental image of me and John drinking (neither of us are legal, either) was too funny. Maybe that was why I didn't notice the doctor first.

John stood up, his posture rigid and defensive. I was right behind him --- suddenly, I didn't feel like laughing. The doctor looked between us, looking extremely serious. "Are your parents here?" I didn't know which one of us he was addressing, but since the answer was the same I said, "no."

Suddenly, Chet was at my side. Tony was there too, carrying a clipboard. The world seemed to have shrunk again It was only the four of us kids and the doctor. Once again, it didn't matter about everyone else who was hurt. It didn't matter that right there in the waiting room there were other people waiting for news on their sons or daughters or boyfriends or brothers. It only mattered that this doctor had news, and it wasn't good.

"It's not that bad." The doctor said, noting our grave expressions. "I believe that both of your brothers are still in operation, though I don't know for sure. It's regular meatball surgery in their --- so many kids…No. I came to alert you. Carrie Garner is awake and requesting her boyfriend." He smiled a small smile at John. "The nurse will take you to her room." He hurried back along the corridor, leaving us.

John was next to me. "She's alright." He said, marveling at the words. He laughed, a laugh similar to my deranged laugh. "She's okay!" He scrambled to follow the nurse along the same corridor the doctor had disappeared down.

I turned to Chet. "How'd it go?"

He furrowed his brow. "I told my mom I was okay. She was in hysterics when I called ---it's all over the news. She wanted me home right away, but I told her I'd stay with you." He guided me to a chair. It wasn't until that moment that I realized I was wavering. Standing was not something I was good at at the moment. "I figured you'd need a friend."

Tony pushed Joe's paperwork towards me. "It took forever just to get the nurse's attention. There's so many people out there --- nobody knows where to go. Some kids got airlifted to different hospitals and…" He shook his head, making his long hair flop in front of his serious eyes. "It's chaos, man."

I took the paperwork from him. Concentrating on something would be good for me right now. I remembered how Joe and I would always joke around. Usually, we'd be stuck in the emergency room for hours (we break quite a few bones. I hold the record, though --- nineteen) and we'd fill out each other's paperwork. Put down our history in drugs, and all that.

Now, the papers in front of me swam in front of my eyes. I realized I was crying again and brushed the tears aside impatiently. Why was I crying?

I looked across the room, where a low, primal wail had started. A woman was shaking, held by a girl who must be her daughter. I looked at them with a detached interest, wondering which one of my classmates had just died.

The woman's wail was only cut off when the door shut behind her. Then we were left with silence.

**I've looked over the last couple of chapters --- this is probably the most depressing thing we ever wrote, because it could actually happen, you know?**

**Anyway, review.**


	6. News

**I don't own it.**

"_He was my brother, and he died in my arms because that man decided to kill him. Who's he? Why does he get to decide who lives and who dies?" __**19 Minutes**_

_Frank_

I started waiting. There was, quite literally, nothing else to do. I couldn't leave, and nothing seemed to be as interesting anymore. Several times, Chet or Tony tried to talk, but they could never seemed to get past the obvious, "I'm sure he's okay, Frank" before they were rendered mute.

What do you say to people after situations like this? People came and left our little corner of the hospital, for the most part staying in groups. Some kids I knew left with their parents, shaking, with stitches or a cast. I hoped Joe would be as lucky.

The only thing that really made me talk was John's return. He smiled at me, collapsing back into his old seat. I looked at him, eyebrows raised, hoping that our little bonding would make him open up about his girlfriend. He looked at me, smiling a tired little smile.

"She's going to be alright. She has to stay in the hospital for a few days, because the bullet was near the head area. Luckily, it didn't hit anything major, and it only grazed her. A couple of centimeters…" he didn't finish his sentence, and he didn't have to. We all knew.

"So she'll be alright?" Tony asked quietly. "That's great, John." He sounded like he really meant it, too. Something good --- anything --- in this terrible day.

"Yeah, I mean…" he trailed off, looking odd. "It doesn't matter to me, of course, but the bullet did graze her face…she…she won't look the same."

Once again, reality hit with surprising force. We were dumbfounded by this new-found knowledge. How could Carrie --- fun, _beautiful_ Carrie --- be hurt like this? I looked at John, though, and by his expression, I knew that Carrie could be a leper and he would still love her. That kind of attraction always surprised and scared the hell out of me. 

I looked again at my watch, nearly jumping out of my seat when I realized it was only 11:17. God, it had only been around an hour since we'd arrived at the hospital. It seemed like an eternity.

I thought back to the morning, remembering how Joe had been slow, and how mad I'd been. The last thing I did was hit him…God, it was like a bad soap opera. Only much, much worse. 

I think all of us jumped to attention when we saw the doctor coming towards us. I stood up, fidgeting, fearing the worst and hoping, praying to whoever not to let that nightmare come true. 

It was a different doctor. This one was older, with graying hair and glasses. The way he looked at me made me feel like he was my grandfather, and I immediately felt calmed. "We have some good news. It appears a Joseph Hardy is out of surgery." He looked around the now-crowded room. "Is there anyone here for him?"

"I am!" I rushed forward, Chet and Tony on my heals. The grandfather-doctor first looked disapproving, then softened. "Were you there?" He asked, softly. I nodded. "Did you get that boy out?" Again, I nodded. At once, I felt a wrinkled hand come down on my shoulder and squeeze it with surprising force for one so old. "Well done, son." The doctor said, quietly.

A wave of relief swept through my body at the thought of having Joe out of surgery. "He's in room 216." The doctor said, briskly. "We have a lot of kids, so he's sharing. And he's not out of the woods yet --- he'll be here for at least a couple of days."

I thanked him, wringing his hand. I went down the hall, finding myself flanked with Chet, Tony, and (surprisingly) John. "He's in the same room as Carrie." He said, quietly. I looked at him, forcing a small smile. Somehow, I was glad John would be in the same room. Maybe he needed me as much as I needed him. Poor guy looked completely lost, and I couldn't blame him. We still had no word about his brother.

We passed Carrie's bed before we saw Joe. She was sleeping, or passed out at least. John dropped a kiss on her forehead, or what you could see of it. Most of her face was covered in bandages.

When I saw Joe, I almost cried. He looked tiny against the too-white sheets, which is odd because my brother is anything but tiny. But he was alive and that was all that really mattered. 

He wasn't awake and I reached out and took his hand. I took a quick peek at his chart, interpreting the squiggles as best I could. Blood loss, a concussion, probably from hitting his head against the desk, and one of his kidneys had been hit by the bullet. A lung had collapsed, which was why he was spitting up blood. I shivered, thinking of how close my brother had been to dying. How close he still was to dying. I felt tears sting my eyes again. I was such a crybaby.

I watched as his IV dripped blood into his arm, wondering vaguely where all the blood was going and not really caring.

I felt Chet and Tony and John settle in around me. Chet let out a small moan and I looked at him. "He has no hair." I blinked, registering the fact for the first time. All of Joe's golden hair was gone. I remembered how much he used to hate that hair. In Elementary School, he had picked up the unlucky name on "Sunshine" because of his hair. He put an end to that nickname after he hit a growth spurt in seventh grade.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to let my shoulders relax. I kept telling myself that it was over now, Joe was okay. It was like nothing ever happened.

I was a terrible liar. Joe might still not be okay. I wanted to look away from the machine that was breathing for him. That one was the worst.

Unwillingly, I thought back to the school. I flinched at the thought of having to go back there, although I guessed it would take a little time to re-open the school. It was a major crime scene at the moment. And what of the future? There would be a trial, and witnesses, and testimonies, things I was used to because of my dad's work, but to experience it in this setting…

Once again, I pushed the thoughts away. Out of sight, out of mind. Whoever said that first was an idiot. I gripped Joe's hand tighter, willing him to wake up. Joe had the strange characteristic of making everything into a joke. On cases, chasing bad guys, running from bad guys…it was all a joke to Joe. Once he woke up things would get better.

The door to the room opened and a doctor slipped in. Yet another new doctor. I wondered vaguely how many doctors the city of Bayport had. They were probably all here now. This one looked haggard, his eyes with deep circles underneath somehow very prominent on his face. "Is a John Growe in here?" He asked, his voice, breaking the silence of the room.

John stood up expectantly, clearly hopeful that he would have news about his brother. I was probably the only one who saw him shaking, and reached out to touch his wrist. 

The doctor stared at him for a long second. "David Growe it dead. He died minutes ago on the operating table."

It felt like the air had been beaten out of my lungs. I looked up at John, his face open for a surprised second. I saw surprise, fear, anger, and sadness reflected in his features for that one second before it was closed off. Neutral. He fell back into the seat, his mouth still partly open.

I didn't know what to say. I looked around for Chet and Tony, who looked as surprised and terrified as I felt. Dave was only a Junior. He was in Joe's year. He was a geek, played French Horn for the band, and was a surprisingly good pitcher. And he had died.

Without thinking, I put an arm around John's shoulders. No one had said a word since the doctor had spoken. Words were inadequate, beyond useless. I let myself think for a second about what I would have done if Joe had died today. I probably would want to curl up into a ball and cry.

John's slim shoulders were shaking under my arm. He hadn't let out a sound before now, but now came a low moan, barely audible. I looked over at the captain of the basketball team, straight-A, all-around nice guy crying over his now-dead brother and felt my blood boil.

For the first time that day, I wanted to know who had done this. What would possess anyone to do this to our school? Who had given them the right to rip brothers apart?

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	7. Learning

_**Don't own**_

"**He broke down then, and that's when I knew I was dying." Huck Finn**

_Joe_

Pain was the first thing I noticed when I came to. The second was that I was in a bed. The third was Frank.

Unfortunately, the first one left little room for anything else to make much sense. I arched my back, realizing for the first time that there were several tubes in my arms and one down my throat. That scared me and that's when everything came flooding back.

I felt someone squeeze my hand. "It's okay, little buddy, you're okay now." I had to be Frank. He was the only one who called me little buddy. I'd told him once to knock it off, when I was twelve, so he started calling me Sunshine like everyone else. I told him I liked little buddy better.

But where was I? The last thing I remembered was…grass… Something had happened before that but I didn't really remember it. I couldn't speak past the tube and when I tried to open my mouth I ended up gagging. Why did I hurt so much? What had happened?

Something wet landed next to me and I forced my eyes to look at Frank. He kept moving around for some reason, and sometimes there were two of him, but he was definitely crying. I can count on one hand how many times I've seen my brother cry. It always scared me.

Frank bit his lip and another tear landed next to me on the bed. Another, voice said, quietly, "You're in the hospital." It was Chet. I tried to move my head to see him but that hurt too. I was really tired.

I tried to show with my face that I didn't know what they were talking about. Why was I in a hospital? I honestly didn't know what happened…the last thing I remembered was Frank yelling at me because we were going to be late. Did we get in a car crash? And why wasn't Frank hurt?

I could feel Chet and Frank looking at each other even though I didn't see them. Then another new voice said, quietly, "You were shot, Joe, but you're going to be alright."

Tony. Somehow, Tony being here made everything better. Tony was always calm, even more so than Frank. I sometimes suspected he was part Vulcan. But I wasn't all that surprised at being shot. I'd been shot before, though only in the leg. We must have been after some bad guys this morning.

Partly from pain and partly from exhaustion, I wanted to go to sleep…but…Frank…was he okay? I had to know. I tried to turn towards him, the tube tugging on me as I did.

Frank squeezed my hand, another drop landing next to me. "I'm fine, Joe. Go to sleep." Then he did something he hasn't done since we were kids. He kissed my head. That's when I knew I was dying, Frank just wasn't telling me.

I was too tired now. As long as Frank was okay, I was too, even if I was dying.

_Mrs. Hardy_

"Laura, where did you say you were from again?" I sighed, wiping my forehead with my hand. People said Chicago was windy, yet here we were in mid-October with a mini heat-wave of seventy-five degrees. I turned to the wrinkled face of Mrs. Ross, a nice, mother-hen type person of around sixty-five years.

"I'm from New York." I said, patiently, even though it was literally the eighth time I've told her. She frowned, which was odd because the last seven times she'd go on about her early life in the City, even though I had tried to explain to her that I lived in upstate New York.

"You better come here, honey." She started leading me away from the booth and the other women. I was startled, but followed her into a small conference room. "Does the word 'Bayport' mean anything to you?" she asked, her lined face serious. I nodding, wondering what was going on in my home town that had her so worried.

She flipped on the TV. It was the news. I stared at it, looking at the high school -- the school I had gone to, and Frank and Joe were now at -- behind police tape. Words got through to me at intervals…shots fired…over sixty people in the hospital…fifteen already dead…fourteen missing…

What had happened?

It wasn't until I felt Mrs. Ross's hand on my shoulder that I realized I was shaking. I wanted more than anything to look away from the television, and yet…

Frank. Joe. Were they okay? I looked around for a phone, though I probably wouldn't have found one even if it was right in front of my nose.

I started crying. Really crying. Behind me, I heard Mrs. Ross phone the airline. I collapsed into a chair, tears coming down too fast for someone about to be forty-four years old.

Mrs. Ross squeezed my shoulder. "Shh…we'll get you on the next plane home." I must have cried for five minutes before I got up enough energy and willpower to pick up the phone.

I started dialing Frank's cell phone, half-dreading him picking up. If he did pick up, he might tell me that Joe was dead. If he didn't….

The phone went straight to voice mail and I hung up. I was in no state to leave a message. In a panic now, I punched in the numbers for Joe's phone. Same thing.

Trying to think, I next tried Mrs. Morton, one of my good friends and the mother of Chet. She picked up on the first ring. "Laura?" she nearly screamed as I started talking. "I haven't heard from your boys, but Chet called not too long ago." I could hear her breathing hard. I tried to imagine what it felt like already losing one child and thinking you were losing another. "He said he was staying with Frank at the hospital. I don't know about Joe, but I think Frank got out without a scratch."

I thanked her, hanging up. That was one boy accounted for. But what about Joe…? I turned to Mrs. Ross and she said, quickly, "I'll drive you too the airport."

Watching her go, I had a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach. My poor boys….and what of Fenton? For the first time, my thought strayed towards my husband. He would hear about this after everything was done…this case was an important one, or else I would call him. Case or no case, he would want to know about his sons right away. But I could put him in more danger…by calling at the exact wrong moment, I could blow his cover.

Numbly, I followed Mrs. Ross, looking as composed as I would ever get. I could go home and find my boys dead, or one without the other….

I couldn't take that. I started crying again.

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	8. The First Meeting

**I don't own the Hardys.**

"_Those Elric brothers, they only live for each other." __**Fullmetal Alchemist**_

_Frank_

Chet and Tony only left after they got kicked out. I refused, and so did John. If he hadn't, I would have refused for him. Poor guy couldn't drive anywhere like this.

So Chet and Tony were out to find their parents and explain they weren't dead. They'd probably get no sleep tonight, like me. I couldn't go to sleep even if Joe hadn't been in the hospital. Everything just seemed…scary.

It's odd, but today I've wondered about life a lot more than I ever have. Probably because so many lives are gone and ruined. Like Carrie, who could have been a model if she hadn't thought they were shallow losers, and Dave, who could have invented a cure for cancer, and that teacher, who had probably tried to stop the shooting in the first place, and…

And everyone else. I rubbed my temples, thinking of how different _everything_ was going to be. For a minute, I tried to see beyond me and Joe and our little corner of the world. Everyone says teenagers think the world revolves around them, and I'll agree. I haven't thought of anyone else but me and my friends all day.

But for second, I tried. I tried to imagine what could have happened to make someone kill…I think it was thirty-something people last time the news was on. And the kid must have hurt so many others. Even if he didn't hit them, they were hurt like John, who hadn't been shot. He hadn't been hurt at all, and yet he was hurt the most.

That's where my thoughts ended, when I came full circle back to my corner of the universe. I looked over at John, who was holding Carrie's hand. She'd woken up for about ten minutes, long enough to see John and have him kiss her. Then she'd passed out again.

For a moment, while I stared at John, I felt closer to him then I had ever felt to anyone. He had gone through everything I had and more and yet he was still sane. And we had shared something on this nightmare-ish day. There are some things you can't go through together without feeling something for that person, and having your school shot up is one of those things.

I tightened my grip on Joe's hand. Somehow, it didn't seem real to me that he was in the hospital bed and I wasn't. How did I get out totally unhurt? Luck, probably. It was all luck.

I checked my watch, a little surprised to see that it was almost eleven at night. Time didn't seem to matter anymore.

The door opened but I didn't even look up. There had been doctors and nurses coming in and out all day, to check temperature or something on either Joe or Carrie. Then I heard the scream.

I turned around just in time to see mom gripping the doorknob. Her scream had woken John up out of his half-doze and he managed to reach her before she collapsed.

I rushed to my mom's side, wondering vaguely why she was here. I hadn't called her -- I had completely forgotten, once again, that there was a world outside the hospital. "It's okay mom, he'll be fine."

She was crying. I hated to see my mom cry. I hugged her, knowing that it would do little to make her feel better. She hugged me back in the same way I've been doing to Joe all day. As if she wanted to make sure I was really there. "What about you, Frank?"

"I'm not hurt." I couldn't say I was fine -- I was as far away from fine as I would ever be. But my mom didn't need to know that now, so I told her what she needed to hear.

"And Joe?"

Desperately, I tried to think of what Joe would say in my spot. "Well, he won't be playing football any time soon." It was a feeble attempt but it did draw a strangled laugh out of my mother.

I guided her to the chair that I'd been sitting in. She just stared at Joe, not moving, not saying anything, just looking at him. Watching his chest rise and fall, courtesy of a big machine.

"It looks worse than it is." I offered, knowing, if she was like me, she was freaking out at the sight of all the machines around Joe. And she was like me, so she was freaking out.

She looked at me, obviously trying to think about anything but Joe, though I noticed her fingers intertwine with his limp ones. She looked over my shoulder at John, who was looking at us curiously. "How is everyone? Chet? Callie? Tony?"

I waved her questions away. "They're fine. Chet and Tony and Biff got out before they got hit. Callie wasn't in school today."

Still casting around for a topic that didn't include Joe and his health, she smiled shakily at John. "Hello. I'm Mrs. Hardy."

He inclined his head slightly. "John Growe." He gestured to Carrie, still asleep in the bed. "Carrie Garner, my girlfriend."

"John's been here with me all day." I supplied. Mom nodded absently, her hand still stroking Joe's. Finally, like she couldn't take it anymore, she asked, "How bad are they?"

"Are what?"

"The injuries." She looked like she might cry again, which made me want to cry again. John was already crying -- he's been crying quietly ever since we'd been given the news of his brother.

"Oh." I tried to remember them all. "He was shot --" I realized that was the wrong word as mom started crying for real. I continued as gently as I could. "In the stomach. It hit a kidney and his lung. His kidney's shot and his lung had collapsed, though they repaired that in surgery. The tube is just a precaution."

I sat down next to mom, watching her watch Joe, watching as the tears trailed paths down her cheeks. I hate it when she cries. I hate it when I can't do anything to help.

I can't help Joe, I can't help my mother, I can't help John or Carrie or that teacher or any of the other people who had been hurt. I was useless.

And I was crying.

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	9. Fear

"_You must be strong now, and never give up. And when you are afraid of the dark, don't forget that the light is always there." __**Ralph Waldo Emerson**_

_Joe_

"Get _off_, Frank. You're being such a pain." I tried to swat my brother away and ended up doubling over in pain. Stupid chest. Stupid kidney. Stupid Joe.

And as soon as I did, Frank stopped. He always treats me like a china doll now. I wish he'd stop. I'd already lost my kidney and football and my school. I didn't need to lose Frank too.

Football. Remembering it made me sigh again. No football for the rest of the season, or ever, probably. Some rule about having two kidneys that I didn't even pretend to understand.

At this point, though, I seriously doubt we're going to have a football team at all.

For some reason, this thought brought tears to my eyes. I wiped them away angrily. This was my first day home from the hospital after spending two straight days there. Dad was coming home, after hearing about the shooting on the television. Funerals started tomorrow. No one knew when school would start, since the school was still a crime scene. I'd be fine with it not starting at all.

Frank sat down next to me and I couldn't look at him. Once, when Frank was out of the room (which wasn't often, but mom made him go home to sleep), John Growe had told me about That Day. How Frank had gone towards the shooting to make sure I got out. How he's carried me out and made sure I was okay. How he wouldn't leave my side for the hours after surgery.

I knew that Frank had it harder than I did. He had to think I was dying for hours when I had no idea what was happening. I didn't remember anything of the shooting -- everything after getting into the car in the morning is blissfully blank. But Frank remembers.

Without thinking, I leaned against Frank. I was really crying now. I hadn't cried since I first woke up, and that was crying from pain. I didn't know what I was crying for now.

Frank just let me stay there, one of his hands in my hair, another on my back. He hadn't been out since it happened. No one had. Everyone, everything was too…scary.

It was impossible not to know at this point. Rumors were spreading like wildfire. The shooter was Jacob Roffman, a Junior. He had killed twenty-eight people, critically injured nine more (I was in that part). He had been cornered in a locker room and was now on twenty-four/seven suicide watch. There would be a trial.

The noise of a car interrupted my thoughts. Frank eased out from under me, placing hands on both my shoulders. "You going to be okay?"

I nodded, because I didn't think I could talk. Crying, for those who don't know, hurts like Hell when you have a recently-collapsed lung. Frank peered out the window, smiling the first smile I'd seen in days. "Dad's here."

I was out the door in a second, Frank on my heels. "Slow down, buddy." He caught my sleeve, forcing me to go at a walk. My lungs were already burning from the few feet I'd gone. I walked as slow as Frank made me and managed to get to the door the same time dad threw it open.

Dad stared at me for a second, and I'd only seen him look like that a few times before. When I was kidnapped for the first time. When Frank was in the hospital, almost dead, and we didn't tell him until after he got back. He looked like something inside him had broken. Very quietly, in a voice that broke, he said, "Joe, are you alright?"

I didn't know if I was alright. I didn't know if I'd ever be alright. But I felt Frank's hand on my arm and was immensely glad that my brother was here through this. I swallowed, knowing the answer I must give, even if it wasn't the truth. "I'm fine, dad."

He didn't believe me. His job was not to believe people and I am probably the worst liar in the known world. He started to wrap his arms around me -- something dad rarely does. I must have tensed, though, or he saw Frank tense because his next words were. "Joe, are you huggable?"

Again, I really didn't know if I was or not. I felt Joe step away, heard my mother enter the room, and knew what the answer had to be. "Yeah, dad, of course I am."

He hugged me then, very carefully, the same way Frank always did. Like I was made of glass. I pressed my face into him, hoping that he'd make me feel safe for the first time since the hospital. Safe from something I didn't even remember. It almost worked. I was able to relax into him before I winced, my chest hurting again.

Dad broke away from me, looking far more upset at my plight than he should have been. "Did I hurt you?" And he was so worried that I could only shake my head, knowing once again what my answer had to be.

Frank brushed against my arm again, reminding me without saying anything that he as there. I was glad of that. For a second, I wondered if I could ever feel truly safe around anyone but Frank.

The television was on in the living room but no one was paying attention to it. Mom and dad were talking in low voices in the kitchen and from dad's sudden outbreak of volume I could guess what they were talking about. It seemed to be the only subject of conversation now.

I tried to pay attention to the news. It was a story about how an old man had caught a toddler as she fell from the second story of a mall. Somehow, it didn't interest me that much. I sat on the couch, my mind a million miles away from everything.

"Bayport High School." The words made me look up to see our school on TV, sheltered behind a wall of police tape. But they weren't talking about the actual shooting this time. Frank started to change the channel, as he had every time a news story about us had come on but I stopped him. I wanted to remember what happened that day. I needed to.

"Jacob Roffman, the shooter, is now on trial…" the words started to distort until they seemed to be talking in another language. I felt something touch me and I jumped away, my stomach protesting at the violent reaction.

I looked over at Frank, who still had his arm outstretched. Then I looked towards the television and saw a picture, probably taken out of our yearbook. It was a kid. The one who had tried to kill me.

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	10. Comfort

**A/N: This chapter is absolutely necessary, though it might not be what you're thinking it will. And it might be a bit…odd? Sorry, I've been home for the past week with mono and woke up this morning with the desire to read and write as much as I could, which is an improvement, for those of you who haven't had mono yet. So, warped chapter ahead, but I like.**

_There are things worse than death. Yes, I really believe that. If I were to outlive my brother or my friends…yes. That would be worse than death. __**Runyard Kostick**_

_Frank_

I stayed up late with Joe, who for some reason didn't want to go to sleep. I didn't blame him. Sleep had eluded me for the last few nights and there was nothing indicating that it wouldn't do the same tonight. So I patiently played four rounds of chess (which Joe was never very good at) as I waited for him to open up.

I had captured his king for the third time in a row and was in the process of setting up another game when he started talking. "Are you okay, Frank?"

Though the question took me by surprise, I tried not to show it. _Rooks in the corners, then Knights_. I used to love naming the pieces. "Of course I'm okay, Joe. It's you everyone's worried about." I looked up at him then, in time to catch the face he was making. I knew he hated being treated like a child, but he had almost died. He _had _died.

Joe looked at my setup before switching his King and Queen. He never could get their order right. "I don't think it's me they should be worrying about."

_Okay._ I didn't know how to answer that. I carefully lined up the pawns so that they were in a perfect row.

"Frank." Joe's voice was low. "I'm really fine, Frank." He touched my hand before he reached for his last pawn. I couldn't help it anymore. The tears were still there even after I wiped them away. I leaned back in my seat, running my hand through my hair in a motion Joe says I do entirely too often. Finally, I managed to get the words I wanted out.

"You're not fine, Little Buddy." I was embarrassed that my voice cracked but kept going on, finding anger behind those words and startled by it. "You're as far from fine as possible. Joe…you were shot. You had a concussion. You _died,_ Joey!"

Either the information or my voice must have scarred him because he flinched back. I felt terrible when he hissed in pain and immediately made my voice lower. "Joe…you don't know how terrible it was when I thought you were dead. For hours, Joey. I was so sure you'd die."

He didn't look at me while I was saying this. Instead, he numbly moved one of his pawns forward. We took turns switching from black to white. Neither of us wanted to be one color for very long. When he finally did look at me, I was surprised and sorry to see tears in his eyes. I shouldn't be making Joe cry. I was his brother. I had already failed at protecting him.

"I've been shot before." Joe said quietly, and it was my turn to flinch away from _that _memory. It had been a bad case from the start, and we had tracked the guys to Africa where they had an elaborate smuggling organization, dealing in humans. Joe had gone undercover as one of the slaves they were selling. They'd found out he was an agent and shot him.

I couldn't' protect him then either.

"This time it's different, Joe." How could I make him see this? I leaned back in my seat and asked a semi-rhetorical question. "You remember anything that happened? Anything at all?"

Joe must have known I knew the answer to that but, he told me anyway, "No. Everything after getting in the car to waking up in the hospital is…gone. Like it never happened."

"It happened, Joe." I said, surprising myself at the ice in my voice. But it wasn't at Joe, it couldn't be. No, all the anger I've felt over the past days have been directed at that kid, the one who tried to kill my brother.

I leaned forward, moving a Knight without thinking about it. "I was in History." I said quietly, and I knew that I had Joe's full attention. "And I heard the first gunshot. Everyone else started panicking, but I knew exactly what it was. I got out of the classroom and grabbed the first kid I saw." My grip was threatening to unhorse the knight but I continued.

"He told me the shots were coming from your side of the school and I _knew_ that you were hurt. I got to you and…" I couldn't' continue. My vision was blurry again and again I wiped the tears aside. I shouldn't be crying. I wasn't hurt. "You had fallen out of your chair. There was blood all over. I didn't even check for a pulse, I picked you up and ran."

It was like the story was out of my hands, like I had to finish it. I didn't even register Joe's expression, half-disgusted, half-scared. "I got you outside and Lloyd took you. I couldn't go, there were so many people they needed to rush to the hospital. But Lloyd, he told me…he told me that your heart stopped."

For the first time since I began I really looked at Joe, and I got up and walked around the table that separated him and drew him into a hug. God, he looked scared. I leaned my cheek against the baseball cap that was covering his bald head and felt another, milder surge of anger.

We stood there, not moving for the longest time before Joe finally broke apart from me. For the first time in many years, I thought my brother looked tiny. Standing in the middle of the room with a sweatshirt on, none of his gold hair falling in his face, he looked a lot younger than seventeen.

"Frank." He looked lost, his eyes looking at me desperately. "Frank…this is all wrong."

I nodded. Everything was wrong. It was October and we weren't in school and wouldn't be for at least another week. Joe had no hair. Joe was playing chess. Joe had gotten shot. A lot of kids had gotten shot. "Everything's wrong."

Joe sat back in the chair and looked blankly at the chess set. Only a pawn and a Knight were moved, everyone else just stood there, watching. Waiting. "He's getting a trial."

"What?" I kneeled next to Joe, putting a hand on his arm. This was not what I had expected Joe to say, and I was shaken by it.

"Him. His name in Jake…something. He did it." Joe didn't seem to be talking to me, instead he was looking at the Bishop he held in his hand, his thumb stroking the cross that was balanced on the figure's head. "He was the one who shot me. Shot everyone. He's alive, Frank, and he's getting a trial."

Now that I knew what Joe was getting at, I grabbed my brother's shaking hand, steadying it until the bishop stopped moving. "Joe, you knew this. He has the right to a fair trial." I knew by Joe's face that he didn't want to hear that, so I said what I was really thinking. "But if I could, Joe, I'd kill him."

He turned to me, eyes wide. "You wouldn't." Again, it looked as if I had frightened him, and I was immediately sorry for it.

I couldn't with good conscious say that I wouldn't. If there was no law, no consequences, just that…_monster_…and what he had done to Joe? I would kill him. But knowing that I was scaring Joe I hugged him again. "Of course I wouldn't, Joey. I couldn't with you around."

This was true too. I modeled almost everything I did off of Joe. I knew when I did something that I would regret, he'd notice. It used to be awkward having Joe look up to me so much, but now I used that to make me a better person. Corny as it sounded, Joe kept me in line.

I moved to get off him, worried about hurting his stomach or chest or head or the other hurts I wasn't supposed to know about, but Joe held me. "Frank…" He sounded so scared. "Frank, don't leave me."

I pulled Joe from the chair to a nearby couch and held him, rage building in me once again as I felt him shaking with cold and fear. "I won't leave you, Little Buddy.

I promise."

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	11. Funerals

**A/N: I started writing this and was halfway through before I realized it was in third person. I know it doesn't match up with the rest of the story, but I don't think I can make it first. Sorry.**

"_And anytime you feel the pain, hey, Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders." __**The Beatles.**_

Frank woke early the next morning with the sudden wish to see John. He knew that Dave's funeral was early today and would be followed by ten or fifteen others. He slowly lifted himself out of bed, detangling himself from Joe. He put on a suit, the same suit he had worn to so many trials and hearings. He was doing all this as quietly as he could, not wishing to wake his brother.

"Frank?" Joe's groggy voice sounded just as Frank was opening the door. He turned to Joe, now sitting completely straight, a grimace on his face as his insides protested at the sudden movement.

Frank made a split-second decision. "Get dressed, Joe, we're leaving early." Glancing out the window, Frank hoped it wasn't _too_ early. A grey pallor still held the world in silence, storm clouds blocking out any chance of seeing the rising sun.

Joe immediately complied, getting out of bed gingerly so as not to jostle his still – sore chest. He glanced at Frank, a yawn showing how tired he still was. "Thanks, Frank."

Frank just nodded. He knew Joe was talking about last night. After the chess-talk (which would probably go down in history as one of the first times both brothers were absolutely serious with each other) Joe had climbed into bed with Frank, the two teenagers barely fitting. Neither cared. Frank would never tell, but he had needed Joe last night just as much as Joe had needed him.

He was starting to get nightmares.

Crazy, improbable dreams in which he couldn't find Joe. He was always in the school, gunshots in the distance, looking through every classroom window and seeing -- everyone. His mother and father. Biff. Chet. Phil. Tony. John. But he could never find Joe.

Until the end. Until he was about to wake up. Then he got a glimpse of his brother, lying exactly how Frank had found him, only he was dead. Obviously. Absolutely. Utterly dead.

Because Frank hadn't gotten to him in time.

Jerking back to the present, Frank left his barely-lightened room. He carefully went down the stairs, wincing every time he made a sound. It was six o' clock. Too early for any sane person to be up. Glancing out the big window in the front of his house, Frank knew it would be a cold day. Rain would fall later. It would be miserable.

It was perfect.

He jumped as Joe touched him on the shoulder. He turned around. At any other time, Joe would be laughing, excited that he could sneak up on Frank. Now Joe was just staring out the window Frank had been looking out of. Frank could see that Joe was shaking, his body trembling slightly even as he stood perfectly still.

Looking closer, Frank realized that the suit Joe was wearing had been worn to another funeral already this year. Iola's. The last funeral they had gone to had been Joe's girlfriend.

Without thinking, Frank enveloped Joe in a hug. "You ready for this, Little Buddy?"

Joe nodded, the movement felt against Frank's shoulder. He breathed in and pushed away from Frank. "Can I drive?" he asked, changing the subject noticeably.

Frank tried to smile, though he didn't quite make it. "Yeah, you can drive."

They left a note for their parents, explaining where they were going and telling them that they had taken their father's smaller car. They knew that they would understand.

"Where are we going?" Joe asked, looking across at Frank as he pulled out of the driveway. Making a split-second decision, Frank said, "The church."

Almost every Catholic in Bayport belonged to St. Vincent De Paul Church in the center of town. Frank took a gamble and bet that John would be there, because that's where he would be if Joe ever died.

The church was almost completely empty when they arrived. The ceremony wasn't until ten o' clock. They were three hours early.

Walking in the doors of the church, Frank immediately felt calm as he hadn't felt in days. The church was centuries old, one of the first built in the US. It was huge and beautiful, with stained-glass windows that depicted the Old Testament. At the front of the church was a huge circular window of Jesus, sitting on a tall mountain with children around him. A beautiful picture.

Standing in front of it, looking straight up, was John.

Frank approached the boy slowly, turning this way and that. He had been to this church so many times when working on cases. Every time Joe had been kidnapped, he had come to the church to light a candle. He had always believed that the reason Joe had been found so many times, defeating all odds, was because of that.

Now, he stood next to John, looking up at the window. He didn't talk, knowing that John had to speak first.

He did, in a voice cracking from no use and emotion. "I kicked everyone else out. All my friends…they tried. They couldn't understand."

Frank nodded. He remembered trying and failing to understand what his own brother was going through in the days after Iola's death. "Do you want us to leave?" Joe came forward and stood on the other side of John, not looking at the window but at a statue of St. Jude standing to the side. In the church, statues of many of the saints circled the walls, their unseeing eyes watching the exchange.

Finally, John looked over at Frank, his face wet, eyes red. "No. Stay." His voice cracked as he tried to get out one more word. "Please."

Frank could only nod, feeling a lump in his throat grow. John looked so…lost. Again, the parallels between John and Dave and Frank and Joe were obvious. Dave, like Joe, was a Junior, while Frank and John were Seniors. Dave and Joe had both been shot, while John and Frank had escaped unscathed.

The only difference was Dave was dead. Joe wasn't.

Dave shouldn't be dead. It was a pointless way to die. Dave had been brilliant -- he had won every scholar award in the school. He had been talented. And kind.

Frank pulled John into a hug like he had done to Joe. He felt the smaller boy shake against him and knew he was crying. He felt himself crying, too.

He and John had only really known each other for three days. They were friends for life, bound by impossible circumstances and shared knowledge. They had both lost their brother for a day. Frank had been lucky enough to get his back.

They broke apart after a minute of standing there. Frank immediately, almost subconsciously looked for Joe. He was standing under the statue of St. Jude. When he saw Frank looking at him, he came to stand by his brother.

John looked at Joe, his eyes traveling up and down the boy. He smiled. Frank wouldn't have been able to do that. "Feeling better, Joe?"

Joe nodded, his eyes not meeting John's. Frank knew that Joe still wasn't better. He had lost football, maybe for the rest of his life. He had damaged his lungs to the point where running every morning as he liked to do was out of the question, at least for now.

John continued to look at him. "Do you remember anything from…you know?"

Joe shook his head, this time not looking at either boy. Frank was secretly glad Joe could remember nothing of the events that happened that morning. It would kill his happy-go-lucky brother. Joe, whether he admitted it or not, believed the best in every person he saw.

The church door opened again. Again, it was too early for anybody to be there for the service. Frank watched as Carrie Garner walked in. John waited for her helplessly until she stood in front of him, daring him to send her away.

"Carrie…please…" John turned his head, unwilling to let his girlfriend see the tears in his eyes. Carrie put a hand on John's cheek, turning his face back around so they faced each other. Carrie's own face was still bandaged.

Quietly, she said, "Let me stay, John. You already sent me away enough times." She laughed quietly, a laugh containing no mirth. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

She ran her fingers through John's hair in a gesture so intimate Frank felt as if he was intruding on something private. "There's one thing your forgetting, babe." Carrie said, leaning her forehead against John's.

"I loved him, too."

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	12. Four Months Later

"_Life is pain; anyone who says differently is selling something." __**The Princess Bride**_

_Four Months Later_

Frank worried, not for the first time, that Joe wasn't up for this. First of all, it was nineteen degrees. Joe from a year ago would have taken this as an excuse to skip running and sleep in, happy to wake up an hour later, make himself cocoa, and have just enough time to get to school.

Now Joe was determined to get "better". He always said he had to be better, his blue eyes glinting if Frank ever hinted that Joe might need more time, that his lung was still healing, that he had been shot just under four months ago.

They were standing outside, Frank jumping a little to try to warm up his body that had been so comfortable under the covers just ten minutes before. Next to him, he could see Joe shiver slightly, his ears already turning pink at the cold. Joe's beautiful blond hair hadn't yet grown back more than a short spiky stubble on the top of his head that did nothing to keep him warm.

"You should get a hat, bro." Frank suggested quietly. Joe just shook his head, as if admitting he was cold was admitting weakness and, therefore, defeat.

Sighing, Frank started jogging, hearing Joe start up behind him. His brother's black-and-white view of the world used to be what made him a great detective. Joe always trusted his instincts, while Frank needed hard evidence. Now Frank could sense Joe's view of the world get distorted.

In the last four months, the boys hadn't taken a single case. Both brothers had vowed to "go out with a bang", seeing that they would only get this one last year before Frank went off to college. They had expected to take twenty cases, at least.

October 24th changed all that. Now Joe seemed afraid of his own shadow, though he couldn't even remember why. The younger boy ended up in Frank's bed every night, shaking from a dream he could never remember over something he could not recall happening.

In the last four months, Frank had become distant with Callie, and Joe with Vanessa. Neither had been there that day. They couldn't understand. Frank hadn't seen Callie in a month, not since she had said, in a fit of frustration and anger, that she didn't see why Joe was taking up so much of Frank's time.

They hadn't spoke since, and Frank found that he was surprisingly okay with that. He had to help Joe. He had to help Chet and Tony and Biff and John. He had to help himself.

The sound of Joe's labored breathing made Frank turn around. Joe had fallen behind, his face blue with cold and lack of oxygen, his feet still going through the motions of jogging. Frank sprinted back to him and managed to catch him just before he collapsed.

"Joe!" Frank yelled, the word whipping away on the wind as soon as it left his mouth. Joe's hand twisted in Frank's jacket as the boy tried desperately to anchor himself, to keep himself from slipping into unconsciousness.

Frank was scared. In four months, Joe had pushed himself to the limits, but never past him. His proud brother had taken, grudgingly, to asking Frank to slow down on their runs. Never had he let his condition control him to the point of unconsciousness.

"Don't do this to me, Joe!" Frank heard his voice crack. He turned his body so the wind was to his back, creating a shield for his brother.

Some inner battle had been won. Joe looked at Frank, his eyes once again becoming focused. The first words he choked out were, "Sorry, Frank." Even those seemed to take an indecent amount of energy.

They lay there for some time until Joe's breathing became regular again. Frank held him, debating whether or not to bring Joe to the hospital seven blocks away, whether or not to tell their parents.

In the end, Frank helped Joe to his feet, the other boy looking embarrassed and angry. Frank was sympathetic. He knew that Joe hated feeling weak and this was the ultimate display of weakness.

"You're fine, Joe." Frank said, heading off another apology. Joe always seemed to think it was his fault.

Joe kept his mouth open, the next words out of his mouth being. "His trial starts tomorrow."

Frank didn't even have to ask what he was talking about. It was all over town -- all anyone could think to say. John had called him a week ago on the verge of tears, saying he had been asked to testify against Roffman. Joe had gotten a similar request, though he had no useful evidence to add.

Joe's eyes were hard, his face set and determined for a second before it crumpled. He looked worried and confused. "Did I let him win?" he asked aloud.

All Frank wanted to do was hug him, tell him everything was fine. Instead he place a hand on both of Joe's shoulder's forcing his brother to look him in the eye. "Look at me, Joe." He did, and Frank continued, spitting hair out of his mouth. "You already beat him. You survived, didn't you? That's more than...than some people can say."

Both boys turned away at the same time, both too proud to show tears. Joe continued running first, his pace slower. He was continuing forward. Reluctantly, Frank followed him.

Their destination for the past months had been the same. Roughly three and half miles from their house was the site most of the victims of the shooting. Their run would often bring them in contact with grieving families, confused and angry friends, even some media and press people.

Today was no different. The run took them another fifteen minutes even though they were only two miles away. No way was Frank going to let Joe collapse of him again. They slowed as they reached the graves and memorial. Frank always thought of how close Joe had been to becoming a name on that memorial. Looking at his brother, Frank saw him shiver. Not for the first time, Frank wondered what Joe thought when he looked at this. How do you remember an even you've forgotten?

"Frank! Joe!"

Frank turned to see Carrie Garner walking towards them, picking her way between the graves. In was one of the only times Frank had seen her without John. The two seemed to be attached at the hip.

In was only as she drew nearer that you could see the damage. In the four months, Frank had gotten used to the scars that ran down her face, the deep rift that seemed to divide her face in two. Even the acceptance of her appearance didn't entirely stop the wave of pity he always felt for the girl. Carrie had been beautiful, in the most shallow expression of the word. Her face and body were tanned, her muscles toned, her expression soft. The only bright side was that Frank knew that every time John looked at Carrie, her face was full and perfect. He saw her without flaws. Or maybe he saw past them.

Carrie drew level with the boys. She gently shook Joe's head in a way that would have messed up his hair if there had been any. "Still don't remember anything?" Her voice was bright as she said this, as the words had become a greeting between her and Joe. Joe, in his customary way, shook his head.

"What're you doing here so early, Carrie?" Frank asked, knowing for a fact that she and John visited the site together at least once a day.

Carrie put a thumb over her shoulder. "I was talking to Dave. You know, I was supposed to leave for Boston tomorrow. Finally getting that plastic surgery done." Her face quirked into a smile of the side that wasn't paralyzed. Frank had always admired this in Carrie. She didn't let her fate get to her, just accepted it and moved on. Frank was never very good at it. "Anyway, I needed some advice. With the trial starting and everything, I didn't want to leave John, of course. But this surgery wouldn't be available again for eight months."

"Did Dave give you an answer?" Joe asked, his hands deep in his pockets. Frank frowned, shrugging off his top jacket and laying it over Joe's thin sweatshirt. The fact that his brother didn't shrug it off was testimony to how cold he was.

Carrie nodded. "He said to put John before my looks." Again, the smile seemed out of place, one side of her face drooping. "I had kind of guessed that." She looked down the road, hugging herself. Seeing only the back of her head, her thin form in the grey jacket, Frank would have said the four months had never happened at all.

"You guys going to the courthouse?" Carrie asked. Frank nodded; he had to go. He had to make sure that...monster...was going to be far away from Joe and everyone else he had hurt. Preferably dead.

Four months ago, Frank wouldn't have ever wished someone else dead. Four months ago he wouldn't have to slow down to wait for Joe, wouldn't have to worry about his harsh breathing and wonder if he was getting better or worse. Four months ago, Frank wouldn't have been able to tell you what it felt like, running away from a girl he knew was so much stronger than he was.

**I don't know if this is what you wanted. I'm trying to get everything set up for the trial. There will be a lot more angst, don't worry.**

**Sorry for those of you who actually liked the girlfriends. I know I "killed them off" in a sentence. I just really, really don't like them.**

**Please review. **


	13. Trial

"_Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering" __**Yoda**_

Frank was glad the trial had started on a Saturday.

Sliding into a seat, he realized he was lucky to be sitting at all. The press and media was standing in the back of the room. People -- maybe hundreds of people -- were standing outside. Angry parents, protestors saying New York should bring back the death penalty...it seemed like the entire state had showed up.

Except Joe. Frank was sitting between John and Carrie on one side and Chet, Biff, and Tony on the other. His friends had all accompanied him to watch.

Frank knew exactly what he was expecting from this trial. He was honest enough with himself to admit that he wanted closure. Like maybe this event could make up for a dead brother, a dead son, countless of others dead, a ruined face. Maybe it could make up for Frank's nightmares. Could make up for the fact that Joe was afraid of his own shadow. Maybe the trial could make the town go back to the way it used to be, when people talked about baseball and what they were doing after high school instead of discussing That Day.

Somewhere, Frank knew that the trial couldn't give him back everything he lost. But maybe, just maybe, it would give him a way to move on.

The silence started in the back of the room. Frank turned around in his seat and found himself looking at Jacob Roffman. His face had an unhealthy yellow tint to it, his wispy brown hair fell in front of cold brown eyes. The orange jumpsuit all prisoners wore was clean. His hands were shackled together, as were his feet.

Beside him, Frank felt John tense, saw his hands curl into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. He couldn't imagine being this close to someone who he knew had murdered Joe. Gently, he placed a hand on John's knee, while Carrie did the same on the other side. Frank could feel John's muscles partially relax, but he never took his eyes off Roffman.

Roffman was seated at the front of the courtroom. Frank was so busy watching him he didn't realize what was going on until Chet stood up next to him. Glancing up, Frank saw the last person he'd expect to come to the trial.

Joe sat down next to Frank, staring straight ahead. It took Frank a few seconds to comprehend what he was seeing -- Joe, _his Joe_, at the trial of the boy who had shot up their school. At the trial of the monster who had hurt him, killed him, killed and injured their friends. It took Frank another few seconds to realize Joe was shaking. It only took him one second to wrap his arm around his brother's shoulder, holding him tight, not able to bear losing him.

The judge entered and they stood up. Looking to his left, Frank could see John, his face flushed with anger and frustration and sadness. So much sadness. Carrie had her mouth pressed to his neck, whispering words meant for comfort. She didn't look surprised or upset when he turned away from her, his face stony, looking straight forward as opening statements were given.

To Frank's right was Joe. His face was pale, a ghostly white. Chet had a hand on his knee. Frank had not yet dropped his arm from around his brothers shoulders. He didn't intend to.

Frank knew enough of the legal system to know what was happening. The trial wasn't about whether or not he was guilty, though they did have to prove that. It was more about the boy's sentence. Twelve jurors had to unanimously agree on a correct punishment for killing thirty-something people.

Nothing could ever come close to a correct punishment. Frank, who had never believed in the death sentence, who had never seriously wanted to kill someone before four months ago, thought that even death would be too good for the murderer. He had ripped apart countless families, hurt and paralyzed innocent kids, ruined lives. Nothing the courts could do could make up for that.

If Frank remembered correctly, there would be no witnesses today. A bare layout of facts, that was it. He knew that the prosecution had asked most of the victims friends or families to be witnesses. Frank himself had been asked. So had Carrie, John, Joe, Chet, Biff...anyone who was connected with the people dead or injured. Twenty-one people had agreed to be witnesses.

Frank was one of them.

Anything he could do to help put this thing behind them, help Joe get over the nightmares and laugh again. Anything he could do to get the murderer behind bars for life without parole. He wanted that monster out of their lives, for good.

Frank hadn't told Joe what he was doing. He didn't know how his brother would react to the news. The old Joe might have laughed it off, knowing his over-protective older brother was just doing his thing. It wasn't like they hadn't been witnesses to a trial before. They had put a lot of dangerous killers behind bars, some that had even hurt one or both of the Hardy brothers. But Roffman was different. He had only hurt Joe. He was their age.

Something in the opening statements made Frank look up, seeing Joe and John's expressions out of the corner of his eyes. Both looked angry. Listening now, Frank heard the defense say that it wasn't Roffman's fault...that the people he'd killed and injured had bullied him to the point where he h ad attempted suicide.

Frank thought of Dave, with his knowing grey eyes and easy smile. He thought of the girl Biff had dragged out of the school, the one who had died later that day with curly red hair and freckles, no older than fourteen. He thought of the young teacher who had been one of the victims, of the thirty-something other people killed, of the hundred injured. How had they all managed to bully this one person?

Pushing the thought aside for now, Frank sat with his arm slung around Joe's shoulder for the remainder of the opening statements, until the judge said the court would adjourn until the following day.

At that point, all Hell broke loose. People were shouting, crying, screaming insults and worse at Roffman and his lawyer, who hurried out of the building by a back way. Frank turned and saw Chief Collig, an old friend and the head of the Bayport police force, keeping a crowd back, keeping them from killing the boy who had killed their sons and daughters and brothers and friends.

If, by some accident, the Chief had let one person slip by and kill Roffman, Frank wouldn't have been able to blame him one bit.

**Please review.**

**Sorry if the court thing was wrong. I'm fifteen, not a lawyer. If anyone who has more knowledge of the legal system cares enough to contact me, I would be happy to incorporate your suggestions into further chapters. **


	14. Error

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to update (what? A month?) My brother's been sick, in and out of the hospital and all that. He's just getting well enough to yell at me about not updating **_**anything**_**.**

"_When angry, count to four. When very angry, swear." Mark Twain_

Frank sat down next to Joe. On his other side was Chet. Biff sat next to Joe and John, Carrie, and Tony sat across from the four of them.

The group resolutely stayed away from _that_. Biff talked about his baseball scholarship that he had just won. Frank knew that he wasn't saying how hard it had been to get the scholarship since the school wasn't participating in inter-school sports this year.

Tony followed this news up by saying he was going to CalTech. Frank reached over and clapped him on the back, grinning broadly. They all knew that Tony was a great student -- all honors, and the top grades in the school for math and science. But CalTech was elite, and Frank knew it had been his friend's dream to go there.

The waitress came over then, a slim girl with short red hair and horn-rimmed glasses. She looked over at them, a slow smile appearing over her features as she saw six guys, five of which appeared to be without girlfriends. "Hi, I'm Becca, what can I get ya'll?" she spoke with a slight southern accent that made her seemed softer.

Frank relaxed slightly. He knew right then that Chet had been right by suggesting they go out of Bayport for the evening. They had driven nearly an hour away to Little Egg Harbor, found a small family-owned diner and hunkered down. No one here was obsessed with the shootings, and no one was agonizing over the trial the next day.

The one Frank (might) be testifying at.

Carrie ordered for them all. The girl had accompanied John and seemed totally unaffected by the fact that she was the only female there. Callie had yet to acknowledge Frank again since their breakup and Vanessa's family had moved. A lot of people had moved, especially those who had lost someone.

The waitress left with both Biff and Chet looking after her. Frank had barely glanced at her and Joe hadn't even looked up, yet another testament to his changed personality. The old Joe was a flirt, talking to every girl that walked by. And he never passed up one that was cute. Now Joe was looking at his hands, turning them over and looking at them a different way. He didn't meet anyone's eye and didn't join in the conversation.

Frank sighed and focused on his friends. He wondered in the back of his mind what he would do about Joe, who had just jumped as the waitress set down the drink glasses. In four months they hadn't taken on a case, which was the most amount of time they had spent without one since Frank was twelve.

"Where are you going, Frank?" They were still talking about colleges, and John's eyes were on him, a slight smile on his face. They all knew that Frank had been accepted to five different places -- University of Delaware, Penn State, Brown, NYU, and ACCC. He hadn't told anyone his final decision yet.

Taking a deep breath, Frank mentally braced himself -- now was as good a time as any. "Well…I was thinking about waiting a semester, maybe stay around home and take some courses at the community college."

To his surprise, this statement was the one that drove Joe from his silence. "You _what?_" Joe asked, his voice an octave higher than it usually was. "When were you going to say something?"

Frank turned to him, his hands automatically held up in front of his body, trying to show peace. "I know, Joe, I was just thinking that you might --"

"Might what, Frank?" Joe asked, quieter now as both he and Frank resolutely ignored the fact that that brief outburst had caused Joe's breath to quicken. "I can take care of myself here, Frank. I'm --"

"Don't even think about saying your fine." It wasn't Frank who said this, but Biff. Biff turned in his seat so he faced Joe, his dancing grey eyes stormy. "You're not fine, Joe. Not even close. You think we don't notice? You think _I_ don't notice?" Biff's voice was deeper and gruffer than Frank's and Frank could hear genuine concern and compassion in the voice. "You're scared of everything Joe, and Frank makes it better, and you're just going to have to deal with that."

Carrie reached across the table and grabbed Joe's hand, holding it tight in her own small one. "Don't be afraid to ask for help. It's not a sign of weakness. It takes strength to overcome senseless pride." She dropped his hand, a smile coming over her warped features, twisting her face even more. "Stupid boys." She muttered, which made John laugh a little.

Joe ignored them, his eyes still trained on Frank. The fire in them was impossible to miss, even for Frank who hadn't seen it there in four months. "I'm getting better -- I'm getting way better. I can almost keep up with you when we run and I'm not as tired. You deserve to go off to college."

Frank ran a hand through his hair. He had envisioned, at the end of the last school year, what it might be like when he went off to college. He knew that it would be hard on both him and Joe. He hadn't imagined a scenario where Joe would be pushing him to leave. But he couldn't. Joe might be better physically, but he still had nightmares at least three times a weeks and wound up in Frank's room. He still jumped at every loud or unexpected noise. He still jumped at a touch. He still wasn't _Joe_.

"It's not really your decision Joe." Frank said quietly to his brother. As the food was put down he realized he wasn't hungry.

* * *

Joe got into the van. It was just him and Frank on the ride back, since Biff and Chet had gone with Tony and John and Carrie had left early to visit Dave. He watched warily as Frank climbed into the driver's seat. The brothers directly during the rest of the meal.

As Frank turned onto the highway that would lead them back to Bayport Joe said, quietly, "I remember."

He refused to look up, eyes instead focused on the lights that they passed by. He counted them in his head as he continued. "I remember what happened. I remember all of it."

"How long?" Joe cringed at Frank's voice and knew that he was disappointed that Joe hadn't told him earlier. "How long have you remembered?"

Joe shrugged. They had come to him in bits and pieces, disjointed memories that could only belong to the hours he had lost on _that day_. "I don't know. They started coming back about a month ago." He bit his lip at Frank's huff of annoyance. Or was it impatience? He was too anxious to tell.

"Ummm…." He couldn't remember why he brought it up, except that he wanted Frank to know. Wanted him to know everything. "I've been trying to put them in order. I remember you putting me on the grass outside the school with blood all over your shirt and thinking that I didn't know we were chasing criminals that day." He heard a snort or a choked-off laugh. He couldn't tell which. He was still counting the lights.

"And then you weren't there, and I was worried. Oh." Joe gulped, knowing he'd missed something. "I remember Roffman pointing the gun at me. Straight at me. I knew he meant to hit me, that he meant to kill me. We locked eyes for a second before he pulled the trigger. It was long enough for me to know I was dead, which was why the rest of it didn't make sense."

Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine. The lights zipped by on the highway, harsh white against the velvety blackness.

"They put me in the ambulance when I thought I was dead. I remember wondering why it hurt so bad if you had been the one that was shot. I was wondering where you were, and if you were alive when I…died." Joe choked, his count cut off as his vision fogged. Impatient with tears, he swiped at them quickly. Frank made no noise. That seemed to make everything worse.

"It was different from what you'd expect. I only knew I was dead -- for real this time -- because the pain finally stopped. But the first thing I noticed was you on the grass with your shirt all bloody. I was afraid you were dead. And when I tried to call out to you I didn't make any noise." He shivered at the memory, knowing that he was too far away to help his brother and at the same time knowing that he could do something in order to get back to him.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore. Joe turned around towards Frank who was still looking straight at the road as if Joe hadn't said anything at all. "Damnit, Frank, just say something!" Anger, real anger, burst out of him for the first time in…forever, it seemed. It felt good.

"I don't know what you want me to say." Frank admitted, eyes still trained on the road.

"Say…say that you know what it feels like. That everything's alright now. Tell me that I was stupid for thinking I could see you when I'd died. Tell me all of this _means_ something!" He was breathing hard, his 

face screwed up in righteous anger as he raged at the one person who had been beside him the entire time.

Frank pulled over to the side of the road so that they were right under a light. Then, inexplicably, he wrapped Joe in a hug so tight Joe felt his bruised chest protest under the pressure. But he didn't even think of pulling away. "Be angry Joe. Please." It didn't make much sense to the younger Hardy and besides, he wasn't angry anymore. He was crying. Again. "I can't tell you everything's going to be alright because that doesn't fit right now. But I can say I'll be here as long as you need me. I'll be here as long as you're still angry and fighting."

It took the rest of the night for Joe to realize he wasn't the least bit angry at Frank.

**Review?**

**Please?**


	15. Bullies

"_Some people some into our lives and quickly go. Others stay and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same."__**Proverb**_

Frank decided not to witness at the trial.

His reasons weren't great -- they weren't even reasons. Frank, always analytical and logical, knew enough about himself to know that they were excuses.

He didn't want to leave Joe. That was the obvious first one. Joe had taken a huge, brave step forward by coming to the trial in the first place. If Frank decided to play witness, he wouldn't be allowed in for the day, and that was inexcusable. Chet had told him that Joe was anxious and jittery when Frank wasn't around, even when he was with friends who cared about him.

Frank was hoping that Joe would calm down with time. He was praying that maybe, one day, they'd get back to detective work. Sometimes Frank caught Joe flipping through the newspaper for a case, a puzzle to take his mind off everything. He knew that his brother missed cases as much as he did, but Joe wasn't mentally well enough to be hunting bad guys when he had demons of his own to deal with.

The second reason had taken four months to figure out. In the time since the shooting, Frank had wondered why this time was so different. Joe had been shot before. Heck, Frank had been shot before. They'd both been stalked and beaten and left for dead a dozen times. So why was this situation so different?

The night before the prosecution opened made its case, Frank realized why this was different. Before, when they had been hurt, like when Joe was shot in Africa, they had been playing the hero, the white knights swooping in at the nick of time to save the day.

Now they were the victims. The people who needed saving, because they just couldn't seem to do it themselves.

Sometimes, after a case, Frank would find himself wondering about the people they had saved. He wondered why they ended up in a phsyc ward, why they couldn't seem to move on with their lives. He just didn't _get_ why these people chose to live like that.

Watching Joe, Frank realized he'd been wrong on all counts. The victims (though he hated thinking of his brother that way -- survivor, maybe, or miracle) didn't choose anything. The killers and rapists and thieves choose their fate for them, then left the people they'd hurt to pick up the pieces.

* * *

Frank sat down between Joe and John. Biff and Chet sat on the other side of Joe, Tony beside John, taking Carrie's place. Carrie would be doing what Frank could not. She would be on the stand sometime in the next three days.

Putting his hand on Joe's leg, Frank was glad that his brother didn't pull away. _Baby steps_. He thought. Patience was one of his virtues, though, even if he had to be patient for months.

He was still thinking about what Joe had told him the night before. Frank cringed at the memory of Joe sitting, shaking and helpless, as he tried to put the memory of his death into words.

Frank tried to forget that at the time, he'd been wishing he was somewhere else. _Anywhere_. He didn't want to be the person Joe confided in. He didn't want to bear the burden of knowing exactly what was eating his brother from the inside out. In an instant, a fleeting thought that took less than a second, Frank had mused _it would be easier if he'd just died._

Such a terrible thought shouldn't have even come to him -- he didn't want Joe dead at all. One of his hands rested on John's leg. He never, ever wanted to be in his position. He would not be holding up nearly as well. He probably would have died within a month. He definitely wouldn't be brave enough to sit in the same room as his brother's killer.

Frank realized that people were standing up around him. He jumped to his feet in time to hear the bailiff say, "the Honorable Judge Dawson presiding."

Sitting back down, Frank realized that he would be listening to accounts from other students who had been affected by the shootings. He knew that it had been hard to find lawyers for the case because so many had relatives involved That Day.

Frank watched, amazed, as a boy took the stand. He was dressed in a green turtleneck, even though the day was relatively warm. Glasses masked grey eyes and were surrounded by freckles. He pushed his red curls from his face as he leaned closer to the microphone to answer the question, "Kevin Moore. I'm a sophomore at Bayport High School."

It was only after he said his name that Frank managed to place the boy. Last year, he had done a stint with the debate team, before he ended up missing too many practices because of cases. Kevin had a quick mind, making the senior team as a freshman. He had trounced Frank in the topic of whether or not colleges should teach computer science students how to hack into various systems.

The lawyer for the prosecution was walking Kevin though various questions as part of the direct examination, and Kevin answered them smoothly. "Yes, I was in school that day." He answered.

"And where were you?"

"In the gym. I have first period PE class, and it was too cold to go outside that day." Kevin's face displayed no emotion. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, the thin fingers lacing together. Frank remembered another thing about Kevin Moore -- he was teased mercilessly by most of the jocks in school for being so thin-boned. At five foot five, Kevin weighed no more than a hundred pounds and his high cheekbones and careful features inspired the nickname "fairy."

"Were you sitting alone?"

Frank was not the only person who saw Kevin visibly straighten up, as if he was fortifying his defenses. "No. I always sat with my friend Thomas McAffe."

"Have you and Thomas been friends for a while?"

"Yeah. Since third grade. We both -- well, we got teased a lot. We were both kind of…bookish?" Kevin smiled thinly just as Frank managed to place the other name. McAffe was a defense attorney and a friend of the Hardy's father.

"What happened that day in the gym?"

Kevin's hands twisted in front of him, he bit his lip. "Me and Tom were in the back of one of the lines, talking about this video game we were designing together. The door must have opened but I didn't notice. The next thing I heard was a gunshot."

"Did you see the person holding the gun?"

"Yes."

"Are they in this room today?"

Kevin nodded, pointing straight at Jake Roffman. "That's him." Jake looked right though him.

"Let the record show that the witness pointed to the defendant." The lawyer said smoothly. "What happened after that?"

"I started to get up, but Tom pulled me down. He said we didn't want to draw attention to ourselves. I wanted to see who'd been shot, though. It was this football player, Brandon. The kid with the gun told us all to stay where we were." Kevin seemed reluctant to continue with the memory. He paused, swallowing. "I…I thought I could get out. There was this door right behind us. The kid was going up and down the lines, pulling the trigger right and left. I figured it was only a matter of time. I bolted --" he stopped here, looking scared and guilty, an expression Frank knew well.

"I looked back in time to see Tom coming after me. I saw his face when…when the bullet hit him." Kevin choked, completely losing his composure for the first time. "The kid was aiming for me. Tom -- he's an idiot. He just jumped in front of me." A short pause, then, so quiet Frank could barely hear it. "Tom died in my arms."

There was an object stuck in Frank's throat. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't swallow. He couldn't even try. All he could do was stare at this boy who knew what it felt like to be helpless.

The lawyer had one more question. "Were you or Tom ever bullied? Picked on by other students?"

Kevin looked straight at Roffman, tears glistening behind the glasses. "Every day."

**Review?**


	16. Temporary Insanity

"_And the boy loved the tree very much. And the tree was happy_._" __**Shel Silverstein**_

It was five o' clock when Joe arrived next to the couch where Frank had been comfortably seated, reading.

"Let's _do_ something."

Frank looked up, arching an eyebrow, amused and confused. The Joe that stood before him wore a purple, fur-lined hat over his bald head that completely clashed with a green overcoat, necessary for northern winters. The Joe that stood before him was fidgeting, tapping his fingers against his sides and tapping his foot impatiently. This Joe looked excited, rather than anxious, and he had (or was it a trick of the light?) a glint in his eyes.

Overall, if it weren't for the hair (or lack thereof) Frank would have thought that he'd been transported back four months, or that the events had never happened.

But, as a certain author, whose name currently escaped him, once wrote, "Never look a gift horse in the mouth." (Or _never sniff a gift fish_, which rhymes better but is less well-known.) So Frank immediately got up to search for his overcoat.

Joe was positively jumping up and down, looking like a child at a carnival, and Frank had to stare. Hours ago, they'd left the trial, both exhausted from watching the tragedy be re-hashed in front of them. Joe had been withdrawn, quiet, and jumpy, which wasn't unusual for him. He had spent the last hours working on the van, mechanical work that he still loved to do. There was nothing wrong with the van, but Frank suspected that the repetitiveness of the actions calmed his brother.

"So…what's up?" He was trying, _trying_ to act as if this was normal. As if Joe pounced on him everyday to get up and move. The old Joe was never happy just sitting down. He had to be competing at something, or playing with something, or (the best of all) finding something.

Joe looked at him, and Frank saw that he was wrong. The glint in his brother's eyes was unmistakable, and his energy was unmatched, but there were remnants of the past months hanging on him. His eyes were shaded, tired and worn, with a haunted edge that came from seeing too much tragedy and not knowing, for once, how to stop it. This Joe was slightly thinner, a bit wiser, and an ocean sadder.

Unable to stop himself, Frank affectionately rubbed Joe's bald head. "It's supposed to be good luck, bro." He explained, laughing. Joe smiled lopsidedly, reaching up to fix his hat, and Frank felt his breath catch in his throat.

Because Joe was _looking_ at him. Like he used to. Like Frank went out and personally ordered the sun into the sky every morning. For years, Frank used to resent the fact that Joe idolized him. It was only in the months after That Day, when Joe realized that Frank was human like the rest of them, that Joe didn't look at him with those eyes. It was only now, that he had it back, that Frank realized how much he missed his brother looking up to him.

He _liked_ being able to do everything. He liked being able to get out of sticky situations with a hundred different criminals. He liked being able to save his brother.

Joe stole the keys from his hand and ran out the door into the garage, making Frank follow him interestedly. By the time he got into the large cement room, Joe was already in the car, an insanely happy smile plastered on his face.

Frank got into the passenger seat, a little wary now. It was Friday night. Before, when Joe had been in a mood like this, they were liable to go _anywhere_ if they had enough time. "So…where are we going?"

Wiggling his eyebrows in a way that made Frank laugh, the younger Hardy said, playfully, "You never do like surprises, do you bro?"

Rolling his eyes, Frank leaned back in the seat and watched Joe, using half his mind to deduce where they were going, the other half to marvel over his brother's sudden change.

First: The destination. Frank had very little information for this. He ticked off the little he did know in his head. They weren't going to the airport, and they didn't have luggage, so it couldn't be all that far. In the back seat of the van were the backpacks the two often took when they were expecting to stay overnight. It was February 1st.

Smiling, Frank tucked the "problem" away, deciding to let Joe pretend he'd surprised him, though he seemed to be in a state where no matter how Frank reacted he'd be bouncing off the walls.

It was like watching a little kid who had eaten far too much candy. Joe did not only sit and talk. He laughed. He told jokes. He seemed in awe as they watched the sun slowly float into the horizon. And Frank was amazed.

"Frank?" Joe was literally bouncing up and down in the seat, keeping time to the music on the radio.

"Yeah, Joe?"

"What's the name of that movie where the guy and the girl meet, like, twenty years ago, and then they get to be friends, but they don't actually go out for years and years and years?"

You couldn't get more random than that if you tried. "Don't know, kiddo."

Joe shrugged, then his eyes almost burst out of his head as he gasped in surprise. "Dude, I _love_ this song!" He turned the knob, already singing along. "_Just a small town girl, living in a lonely world."_

Pretending to cover his ears, Frank found the nearest thing and his Joe with it. The thin spiral notebook did little to dampen Joe's spirits. "_She took the midnight train going an-ee-where."_

Halfway through the next phrase, Joe cut off, looking perplexed, then burst out, explosively, "When Harry Met Sally!" Then he started singing, his voice so off key Frank had to open the window; anything this bad had to be exposed to the world.

Three hours, several _Journey_ CDs and almost a case of Coke later, the brothers pulled into an over-crowded motel parking lot in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. Joe was positively swelling with pride. "This," he said solemnly, stepping out of the car, "Is where it's happening."

He looked at Frank, and in that instant, Frank understood. This was a…gift. Joe hadn't completely gone "back to normal" and Frank doubted he ever would. He was fully expecting his brother to wake up that very night with nightmares. But this proved that all hope wasn't completely lost.

Smiling, Frank lunged at Joe, holding him so his chest wouldn't touch the ground as they toppled onto the grass. They wrestled back and forth for a second, and Frank was surprised and pleased to find that Joe could almost beat him. In the end, though, Joe was stuck with Frank sitting on his legs. The purple hat Joe had arrived with was somewhere in the bushes.

Frank grinned, rubbing Joe's head as he would have in order to mess up his brother's hair. "Love you, little buddy." He said.

And Joe laughed.

**I couldn't deal with any more sorrow without even a **_**glint**_** of hope at the end of the tunnel. Is Joe completely cured? Absolutely not. But personal experience states that sometimes depression sometimes makes people a little…crazy. This is a true story. I once actually ended up in Punxsutawney, PA. That was a weird night. **

**Anyway, loose ends will be tied up soon. **

**As always, please review. **


	17. New Views?

"_How can the world go back to the way it was when so much bad has happened?" __**The Lord of the Rings**_

It was a changed Joe that walked into the courthouse the following Monday.

This Joe was different from the other two -- the confident, smart, caring one from before That Day, different from the scared, quiet, jumpy one from after. This Joe was a trifle thinner, a little slower, and an ocean sadder. Yet he sat on the long bench and smiled at Chet as the boy took a seat next to him. He didn't flinch when Frank put a hand on his leg. He stood up straight and stared at Jacob Roffman with the cool, calculating stare of a detective rather than the frightened look of a victim.

For the first time in months, Frank thought he was talking to the Joe he knew rather than a brick wall. For the first time, Joe seemed to be inputting information into the conversation.

School had been suspended for the duration of the main trial, because so many of the students had been affected and more than a few were witnesses for the prosecution. But even during though classes weren't in session, Frank saw that Joe had taken out a few of his textbooks and were perusing them with interest once again.

Carrie and John noticed the change in Joe first, even before Chet, Tony, and Biff, who had all known him longer. Maybe it was because they had both gone through the stages that accompanied Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, something Joe had been diagnosed with in the week following That Day.

There were more testimonies, the last ones for the prosecution. Joe leaned slightly against Frank in a comfortable way that reminded Frank fondly of the many long trials the brothers had attended after they had wrapped up a case. The two had spent many hours in courtrooms, either to see who the case played out or as witnesses to the events that were the focal point of the trials. Back then, Joe would often put his head on Frank's shoulder as the hours wore on, often falling asleep there.

Frank was glad that this Joe was back.

The Hardy brothers and their friends watched with interest as Charlie Summers limped up to the podium. He had been the star of Bayport High's wrestling team, and both brothers knew him well. He had transferred to the school in his sophomore year. Now a senior, he still retained the heavy Brooklyn accent he had grown up with.

Charlie had been one of the first people shot, after Joe, according to the news. He had been a real target of Roffman's. Frank, for one, couldn't understand that. Though Charlie swaggered like a Jock, he was both smart and interesting and astoundingly good at math, excelling at physics.

On the stand, Charlie seemed somewhat smaller than he did on the wrestling mats, where he was in his prime. His black hair was combed and neat, though he seemed uncomfortable in a suit. Though no one could see it, Frank knew that his right leg was still encased in a cast. He'd probably never be able to wrestle again.

"Charlie Summers, aiteen, an' I'm a senior at Bayport High." Frank smiled at the familiar voice and he could tell right then that Charlie would do fine on the stand. He had a personality that drew people in, even if he was talking about something dreadful.

The lawyer paced in front of Charlie, looking more excited than before, as if he was glad that Charlie had agreed to take the stand. "Where were you right before the incident?"

"Before I got shot, you mean." Charlie's voice wasn't hard. He was clarifying the point. Joe stirred beside Frank, his hair sweeping against the older boy's neck. Charlie wasn't bitter. The best wrestler in Bayport High history didn't seem to mind that he'd never be able to play the sport again.

"Me an' Josh -- Josh Springer, we help the office during the firs' period. Runnin' notes to classrooms and junk. We were goofing off in the History Corridor -- I remember that, because I thought the gunshot and screams were in a movie. The sophomores were on the Civil War…

Anyway, Jake comes 'round the corner --"

"Did you know the defendant?" The lawyer interrupted.

Charlie nodded, green eyes glinting in the low lights of the court room. "Yeah. Jake is -- was -- the manager for the wrestling team. Or co-manager. Somethin' like that. So me and Josh kind of say hi to him and --"

For the first time, it's as if Charlie can't go on. He looks at his hands, the wall, the judge, anywhere but his lawyer and Jacob Roffman. "He's smilin', like he was hoping he'd see us, and that's the first thing I noticed. Josh noticed the gun first. Kid had about six of them. He was holding a big ol' shotgun and had a ton hanging out of his backpack.

"He shoots me first. In the knee; ended up shatterin' my knee cap and growth plate and screwin' me over for life. Like he wanted to. He could have killed me…" he was quiet for a second, and Frank noticed that his hand rested the enormous cast that was covering what was left of his leg. "I was on the floor when I saw Josh fall next to me. There was blood coming from his chest -- I was so sure he was dead."

Someone in front of Frank stirred. Leaning forward, the oldest Hardy brother saw Josh Springer sitting on the bench in front of them, hands clenched, face unreadable. He was staring at the portion of the stand that hid Charlie's leg from view.

"But Josh was too smart to die. He figured that if he went down, Jake would just leave us alone. And he did. So as soon as he was out of sight he picked me up and started runnin'. We were out of the school before most people who weren' injured. Josh wouldn' let them take him to the hospital. He went back in to find other people who were hurt."

It was obvious from his voice that Charlie respected and admired Josh for doing this. "Screwed himself over for doing that, though, by the time he got to the hospital, something weird was up with his arm. His shoulder was pretty bad off. He'll never be able to wrestle again either."

Joe shifted in his seat, and Frank started keeping a running tally in his head. So many people had been affected by That Day in ways that he, Frank, and probably Jake Roffman couldn't ever imagine. Like Charlie's wrestling, which probably could have gotten him a full ride to college, and John, who was forever changed by the death of his brother, Dave. Like Joe, who was just starting to wake up again.

Looking up, Frank managed to catch Charlie's response to one of the lawyer's questions. "Did he take something from me? Yeah. He took something from everyone in Bayport. Used to be we didn' have to walk through a metal detector to get to class. There used to be a couple more people in the school, if you know what I mean, and not quite so many crips like me."

The courtroom was jammed full with people, and more still were just outside the doors, spilling into the street in front of the courthouse. Everyone was silent. "So every mornin' I wake up, and I can' take a shower or go down da stairs wit'out my mum or one of little sista's helpin me. An' they shouldn' have to do that, ya know?"

Charlie was a pretty big guy, and would probably be intimidating to anyone who didn't know he was about as terrifying as a fluffy kitten on the inside. So when he started blinking fast, a low murmur went through the room, and everyone seemed to press in closer.

"My little sista's, they's only eleven an' eight, but I'm always worryin' about them now. That's what they took away from me an' everyone else. We used to think we were safe. I don' know what to think anymore."

There were question, many more question, but Frank couldn't pay attention to them. After they were done for the day, Frank went up to Charlie and leaned down, whispering quietly.

Because he felt the exact same way. For the entire ride home, with Joe asleep in the passenger seat, Frank did not take his hand off his brother's leg. Because you just didn't know what could happen anymore.

**For those who are interested, I decided to include a little background information. The characters Carrie, John, and Dave are based off of real people. When Carrie and John were Seniors in High School, they got hit by a drunk driver. Dave was in the car, and he died. He was seventeen. Now Carrie and John are almost twenty-three years old, and getting married in June. I was there when John asked his friend to be his best man. Said friend denied (John was in tears when he asked). There will be no best man at the wedding, because that should have been Dave's job. **

**Just thought you should know that not everything's made up. **

**As always, please review. **


	18. No Reason

"_Sometimes, all you need is _not_ love, all you need is knowing that someone, somewhere, cared whether you lived or died. And this boy didn't have that."_ **Reporter after the Virginia Tech shootings**

Frank and Joe skipped most days of the defense's turn for the trial.

This was for purely selfish reasons. They didn't have school, since it had been suspended for The Duration (which was exactly how they had put it). Instead, they hung out outside the courthouse, watching the mob scene from the other side.

They weren't alone. They sat with Benjamin Fleet. He had boycotted the trial. In the time the Hardy brothers spent staring at the courts from the park across the street; Ben had used them as sounding boards and confidants.

Ben had been, and still would be, a football player for Bayport. He and Joe knew each other well, and went together like macaroni and cheese. Though Ben wasn't the brightest kid, he understood things in a way that Frank couldn't even begin to see. Ben's specialty was people. He had the kind of personality that looped you in, making you feel as if you'd known him forever when you've only been talking to him for five minutes. His voice was low, smooth, and he walked the same way. His eyes, usually bright with fire and interest --- Ben, like Joe, refused to believe anything bad about anyone --- were dimmed and cold as he talked in hurriedly.

"It's just my dad, you know? I don't think I'll ever understand why he's defending this monster. I can't forgive him. Not yet. That kid killed so many people --- a lot of my friends. Why doesn't he get that?" He sipped more of the energy drink he was holding and glared at the court house and mobs of people and media around it as if the place itself was the source of his problems.

Frank sighed quietly and looped his arm around Joe's neck. His younger brother was nodding off again, the warm day drawing him in. Joe seemed to be sleeping more and more often. Maybe it was the nightmares that kept him up at night. Frank made a mental note to ask Joe about it the next time the boy woke with a scream at two in the morning.

"Did you hear what your dad has to say about it?" Frank asked, feeling Joe tense as his hand accidently brushed against the younger boy's chest. It was still sore, more than Joe let on.

Ben's eye's were bright with righteous indignation. "He says the usual stuff. That someone has to do it. That justice has to be fair, and everyone has the right to a fair trial. All the crap about innocent until proven guilty. Then he said that that monster is _someone's_ son. That's when I stopped listening."

Frank didn't know who he agreed with, whose side he was on. On one hand, he'd been brought up by an ex-cop, who was all for letting the system dole out the justice. On the other hand, this boy, Roffman, had taken the system upon himself, and had passed judgment as he saw fit. He'd killed brothers, sisters, kids, a father, in the name of justice.

Who was right? Which side would win?

* * *

On the last day of the defense's trial, Frank and Joe went early and barely managed to get a seat in the back of the court room.

It had been all over the town that today Jacob Roffman himself would be testifying. No one was going to miss it. By the appointed starting time, the entire town, it seemed, was either inside the court or spilling out the doors, onto the steps outside. Frank could see all of Bayport High there, waiting for the answer to the question they'd been asking each other for months.

_Why?_

Why had so many died? Why those people? Why the younger ones…Freshmen, who hadn't even known Roffman? Why the special-ed girl, Caitlyn, who loved the color yellow and would say hello to everyone in the hallway, whether she knew them or not? Why the middle of October? Why Bayport High? Why them?

When Roffman was brought in, chained by hands and feet, the crowd booed as if they were at a football game. There were hisses, jeers, and insults hurled at the boy as he made his way slowly up to the witness stand.

Though Roffman had been present every day of the trial, it was the first time Frank had really seen him since school that day, for it was been Roffman in the parking lot when the Hardy's were about to be late for school. Prison had made the boy thinner, though it hadn't done anything to get rid of the glint in his eyes as he looked at the crowed before him with the dethatched stare of a scientist observing lab rats.

Mr. Fleet, Roffman's defense attorney and Benjamin's father stood up with him. He also received hisses, though not half as many as Roffman. "State your full name and age for the record." He said quietly.

"Jacob Nathanial Roffman, and I'm seventeen."

Mr. Fleet shifted his weight from one foot to the other, he licked his lips, he glanced at the door. The Hardy's had known, even before Ben told them, that to put Roffman on the stand was suicide. He could not, would not, help the case, not unless he apologized, pleaded insanity, or pulled another crazy stunt. In the end, Fleet just asked the question burning the throats of everyone there. "Why?"

And Roffman smiled widely, brightly, cruelly. He leaned forward, talking slowly so everyone could hear him. "They started it."

It was as if all the air in the room had been sucked out. Everyone was silent, staring, not moving, not daring to blink. Hands were clenched, eyes were narrowed, they were ready to spring, to pounce, to devour. They were ready to hate him. But it was silent.

"From kindergarten I was picked on, because I was smaller and didn't like to play rough. I was told to toughen up, to ignore them. People preached about 'turning the other cheek.'" This last part couldn't have been said more sarcastically. "Nothing worked. It just got worse. By middle school I was the nerd, the geek, the loser with no friends. By then there was a definite hierarchy, starting with the jocks and cheerleaders, going down though the drama kids, the class council, the good citizens. It ended with me, at the bottom."

"It got to the point where I didn't want to go to school. I spent all my time on the computer, making up games, scenarios of what could happen. I wanted to move, to drop out, something. It needed to get away."

He looked up, and his eyes were no longer malicious. They were young, and pleading, and scared. "They started it. I was the butt of all the jokes for twelve years. People were dared to ask me on dates, just to prove they did it. But I got to end it."

Now his hands were folded, as if he was talking to a class of very young students. "In the beginning, it was much bigger, you know. I was going to plant a bomb --- it's not hard, if you know the shifts of the guards and the ways in and out of the building. I was going to have that go off on the third floor. Half the school would have been killed."

"But I worked down from that….I didn't have the _time_. People keep asking why that day, of all days? Well, most of the kids at Bayport High could tell you that. You see, there was a new rumor going around about me. This one claimed that I was in love with Carrie Garner, our princess."

Frank glanced at John and saw the boy put his arm reflexively around Carrie, glaring daggers at Roffman.

"It was then that I realized I had to do it soon, and I had to target specific people. I wanted everyone involved in that rumor to be dead, and I wanted everyone who had ever bullied me or anyone else to be reminded of me every day of their lives. So I got my dad's guns, and bought enough bullets for everyone in the school. Just in case."

Frank looked around the room. Some people had tears streaming down their faces. Some were openly sobbing. Most looked angry, and frustrated, and confused, and Frank felt himself lose faith in their justice system. What kind of world did they live in where people like Jacob Roffman got the same rights to life as good, kind people he had put six feet under?

"I remember everyone I shot. A boy in my homeroom, who's friends had often pushed me around." Frank pulled Joe closer to him and felt his brother shaking under his embrace. "Carrie Garner and her boyfriend. Jocks from the wrestling team and football team. Anyone, everyone."

The crowd was ready to spring. A low moan, a sob was stirring in the undercurrent, growing rapidly, gaining strength. They were beyond anger and grief. They wanted revenge. There was no reason given for their sons', daughters', friends' deaths. It was like they didn't even matter.

Roffman wasn't done digging his grave. He continued as if the hostility of the crowd didn't bother him, enunciating every syllable. "Everyone asks me if I feel remorse for what I did, if I feel bad for the people I killed. I always tell them the same thing --- I'd do it all again. They started it. They deserved it. I was doing people a favor."

That was all the people could take. Officers were required to keep people from lunging at Roffman. The jurors were even on their feet screaming. In the back, it was as if all of Bayport High had banded together and were crying, yelling, asking again and again the one question that had never been answered; _why?_

In the middle of it all, one last bullet was fired. In the middle of the mob, someone had shot Jacob Roffman, and the monster that had pulled Bayport apart at the seams, the seventeen-year-old demon, was killed.

**One more chapter. We're almost there. **

**As always, please review. **


	19. The End

"_Start at the beginning." Said the Judge calmly, "And continue until you come to the end, then stop." _(If only it were that easy) _**Alice in Wonderland**_

The end.

Joe Hardy wrote the words on the paper and stared at them, then looked up and stared through his door, through the bathroom, through the open door of Frank's now-empty room. The end. That's how every story ends, how his English paper had just ended. The end. That didn't make much sense.

Deep breaths still hurt, moving still hurt. Smiling, living…that hurt the most.

The end. Everything had ended since last year, and it was as if someone was trying to cover it all up, start a new sentence, a new chapter, a new story. The football team had started without Joe, without several of the players. The school had reopened with a fresh layer of paint and more wary, frightened students. Mysteries still seemed to pop up at every turn, though Joe found himself participating in fewer.

The end. The end of lives, of friendships. The end of trust, as people began to lock their doors. The end of brothers, sisters, families.

There had been a memorial service at the end of graduation, almost four months ago now. Everyone was asked to stand while the names of the students who wouldn't be graduating, this year or every, were called. No one collected the diplomas. That was, in Joe's opinion, one of the saddest things he'd ever seen in his life, those diplomas lined up on the stage with no one there to take them. Thirty-four. An outstanding number. Thirty-three kids and one teacher killed, if you didn't count Roffman. No one ever counted Roffman.

Joe found himself crying more often lately, usually at night but sometimes while he was playing pool with Biff or having dinner with John and Carrie. Around those people, he didn't have to pretend, like he didn't in front of his parents, that everything was alright. It was the teacher's, the media's, the world's opinion that there was a time frame for grief, and that you shouldn't be crying about things a year later.

Who had come up with that? Who said that things wouldn't hurt just as much a year later? Because it did hurt Joe, down to his bones, down to his soul. He was just much, much better at covering up his feelings than he ever had been, than he ever had needed to be.

The emotions --- when he let them wash over him like waves at the beach, let himself drown in the grief and anger and resentment and frustration and overwhelming sadness of that time --- the emotions were still there, still sharp and clear.

He remembered, vividly, the minutes after Roffman was shot in that courtroom. He remembered people being herded out, police come barging in, and he, Joe, ending up somewhere in between. He watched as Roffman's body, still smirking, was wheeled out. He thought, abstractedly, detachedly, that when people fight fire with fire, everyone might just win.

He remembered Frank's grip around his shoulder's tighten as the gun went off, he remembered the way John jumped, his arms flailing to cover his head, he remembered Chet's sharp intake of breath from somewhere nearby.

Joe had often read that people don't want to remember, but for Joe those memories were all he had. If he didn't remember, even the bad stuff, than who would? Who would tell their children years from now about a boy named Dave who died before his seventeenth birthday? Who would take the time to recount the worst year of an entire town's history if no one bothered to remember in the first place?

The end. Joe closed his notebook, tucking the essay away in his backpack for the next day. It had been a stupid assignment, to create a children's story about a darker, real-life topic, like tuberculoses or poverty. Joe's had been about an orphan boy who had watched his brother die when he was five years old. He didn't think he would get a good grade. Somehow, that didn't matter.

His grades hadn't suffered, as many of his classmates' had. Still high B's, though he didn't…care…anymore. He got the marks because he had nothing better to do in school than pay attention to the teacher. He didn't daydream anymore. His daydreams had become more realistic.

It was weird, going to school without Frank. Joe had done it before, when he was in sixth grade and Frank had moved to the middle school, then again when he was in eighth and Frank was a Freshman, but this was very different. Now, it would be weeks between visits, though Frank called Joe every night and texted more often than that. He had been convinced by Joe to go to Brown, where he had gotten a partial scholarship. Though Joe had known that he would miss his brother, he hadn't been prepared for the emptiness of the house in Frank's absence.

He found himself spending more and more time with John and Carrie and Biff. John and Carrie had stayed at the community college where they had both gotten full scholarships. John worked at the local music shop which was (somewhat ironically) right next to the sporting goods store that Joe and Biff worked at. The Senior would often accompany John to the small apartment he and Carrie shared.

There, it didn't feel too big or too quiet, which is how Joe's house felt most of the time. Carrie laughed often, her face somewhat smoother after an operation by a plastic surgeon who had donated his services. John stared at Carrie. When the boy proposed to Carrie at the beginning of their Freshmen year, it was Joe and Biff he told first. They had been there that night at the celebratory dinner, watching the negations (Carrie wanted to marry John, and she would get engaged but only if he knew that they wouldn't be married until their Senior year, at least). In that small apartment, Joe felt comfortable and relaxed, foreign emotions for him since Frank's departure.

The end.

Maybe That Day _was_ the end. It was the end of Joe's football career. It had nearly been the end of his life. It was the end of the safety and comfort school had always held for him.

But, as a famous author once wrote, "every ending is a new beginning." The beginning of friendships, to replace the ones lost. The beginning of Joe's track career, in place of football. Everything seemed to be able to be plugged up neatly by something else. That thought that vaguely depressing.

Joe finally managed to get up off the chair. As soon as he took a step, his cell phone started to vibrate in his jeans pocket. A text message, and three guesses who it was from. Smiling slightly, he took out the device and flipped it open. DON'T BE DOWN, JOE, AND DON'T LIE, I CAN TELL YOU ARE. CALL ME, GO OUT WITH BIFF, DO SOMETHING. YOU'RE WORTH IT. DON'T THINK, RUN. I LOVE YOU TO PIECES, LITTLE BRO.

Joe snorted at the message, running a hand through his hair in a way that Biff often said reminded him of Frank. Frank always seemed to know what Joe was thinking, even if he was two hundred miles away. Maybe he would go out, and he'd call Frank from John's house. He knew everyone would like to talk to him.

Yeah, maybe he'd go out. It was better than staying here, wallowing in memories. Going out did not mean forgetting, necessarily, and maybe it meant moving on, or at least moving forward.

His math teacher, when doing a step-by-step problem, always used the phrase "chugging along". He was chugging along, getting nowhere fast, but going _somewhere_. And that's all that mattered, really. In the end.

**The end. **

**For real. Maybe it was different from what you expected. A little chapter about Roffman's death? Joe's more important. I hope you all liked it, and I commend anyone who has stayed with it from the beginning. It was, really and truly, a learning experience to write it, and I hope you get some of the emotions out of it. Thanks to everyone who reviewed with tips and comments, they really helped me get the chapters out. **

**Go ahead and laugh at it, or cry, you're all worth it.**


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